Encyclopedia of Solace
by littleornaments
Summary: She felt fabric sag over her ears, stinking of decades worth of anxious sweat. She never thought it would be placed on her head a second time, much less that she'd stride towards the Ravenclaw table afterwards. If anyone could have fun repairing Hogwarts' library, it was Hermione Granger, and it didn't involve Malfoy's feline nose hanging about every night. DM/HG. Post-war.
1. Chapter 1

She felt fabric sag over her ears, stinking of decades worth of anxious sweat. It was a hideous thing… she never thought it would be placed on her head a second time.

Staring out at the packed great hall, hundreds of eyes stared up at her. Most in awe. Some in disgust.

The war had ended. Muggleborns had won. She, along with Harry and Ron played a large part in that victory. As a result, she was loved by many, and hated by a few. Children of death eaters still roamed these halls. They had merely been sentenced with probation, though none of their parents escaped the fate of Azkaban.

"Ahhhh. Hermione Granger", the decrepit hat crooned to the audience. "I remember you. Yes, a _sharp _mind this one, no doubt about that. But different, now. Very different."

She sucked in a breath, knowing what was to come.

_But my friends… they need me _she thought pathetically, cringing at how dependent she sounded. She knew she was painting them childishly, but she had a relationship with Ron to work on. They'd promised they'd try to make it work after the war was over.

_You don't need them. _It replied privately, in her head alone. _You will succeed somewhere else. You have grown._

Before she could plead no, it had broadcasted its answer.

"_RAVENCLAW_." The sorting hat screeched, the hall falling even more silent.

Hermione blanched, her eyes finding Harry and Ron, already seated at the Gryffindor table. They looked like they were about to pass out. They had been sorted before her, and predictably, stayed in their mother house. She thought she would be right there next to them. Like the old days.

She was sorely mistaken. Even head mistress McGonagall looked surprised as she shifted in her dramatically large chair. Dumbledore evidently had large furniture to fill.

The entire expectation for her final year of schooling was crushed in a matter of seconds.

Snatching the traitorous hat off her head, she dropped it back onto the chair and without a word, strode to the Ravenclaw table.

Hermione Granger, as always, a vision of strength.

* * *

Draco hated being here, but he knew that completing his schooling was more than necessary. With both his parents locked up, and for life at that, he was left with only a meagre inheritance. The ministry seized everything except for Draco's personal account, which his father had so considerately gutted during the war and donated to "the cause", as if slaughtering people based on what they had no control over, their own birth, was a noble pursuit. The account used to be much fatter. Another terrible outcome of the mistake that was his family's ideological brainwashing. The Malfoy's had been strong. They had money. They had power. The last few years of his life made him question and ultimately reject that power.

Now he was left alone without even a bloody house elf.

That vomitus organisation… what was it called again?

Oh yeah_. S.P.E.W_. It had taken off world-wide. Even Hogwarts had come under fire. Now _that _had been a scandal. Bad working conditions, mental health issues and other offences. Regardless, it still treated it elves better than most pure-blooded families. Certainly better than his own had.

He waited amongst the rest of the students, standing in the middle of the tables. Why they still insisted in keeping this bullshit tradition blew his mind. Had they learnt nothing? The war had been about _categories, _classes, and idiotic traditions_. _And in a bid to re-fresh the school, they decided to keep the _same categories_ and merely mix up who was in them. He rolled his eyes internally at the irony of it all. Despite the sheer amount of people, he was given a wide berth. Nobody wanted to be seen near Draco Malfoy. People sneered at him. A first year actually _spat_ at his feet, earlier.

He wished he could give a fuck.

He really did.

He knew that it was probably an issue that he didn't.

"Draco Malfoy." McGonagall called out over her spectacles; her thick Scottish accent entirely nonplussed. His head shot up. It's not like they could actually expect him to pay attention, right?

He felt an intake of breath travel through the hall. If anyone didn't know he was here yet, they knew now. He felt intensely annoyed at this whole spectacle.

The Malfoy's were a household name for all the wrong reasons. There was no escaping that for him, though he supposed he deserved the humiliation. A part of him felt dejected at the fact that it was either follow orders or death. I was like being a rat trapped in a heated barrel. He'd do anything not to be boiled from the inside out. He supposed he had a certain amount of radical freedom that he hadn't seized in the situation… but he had been afraid. He was utterly confined. People were dying or being tortured around him every day at the hands of an uber-powerful mass murderer and his pathetic lapdogs. His father included.

He kept his eyes focussed on the ground as long legs carried him to the stool, elevated above the students alongside the teachers' table. He closed his eyes to block out the crowd and shoved the disgusting thing on his head.

_Not quite so much gel this time, Draco. _The hat's voice remained in his head only. It could sense his desperate need for privacy. _Also, much less egotism. Life has been difficult for you. Somewhere to heal would be… ideal. Hmmmm. Where to put you? Your cowardice has certainly disappeared. Perhaps Gryffindor? _

_Please no_, he thought, disagreeing with the comment on his apparently lost cowardice. He supposed he was a coward before, but he still felt a coward now. _I'll be eaten alive there. _He tried to imagine himself in the Gryffindor common room. It was a futile exercise. There was no universe where that would become a reality.

The hat stayed silent for a long time. So long that he became uncomfortable. _Excuse me? Which one is it? _He received no reply and cracked open an eye to see people beginning to look confused. Had Draco Malfoy broken the sorting hat? The teachers sat in silence, staring at him. Some watched him with pity. Others looked unforgiving. The hat said and did nothing, slumping on his messed hair like a dead animal. Merlin knows it smelt just as bad.

Finally, as people began to whisper, it reanimated and cried out its, obviously taxing, decision.

"_RAVENCLAW." _It screamed, then slumped ungraciously.

Draco removed the rancid thing the second it slapped shut its slit of a mouth. He was relieved, in all honesty. He did not want to spend his year back in the dungeons. The place was bloody depressing. He _certainly _would not survive in Gryffindor, and Hufflepuff was never an option. He just couldn't see himself shacking up with plants all day. He wasn't good at taking care of things. Ravenclaw was really the only option. He would study all year and mind his own business. It's not like anyone would be interested in getting tangled up in it. He would get perfect marks on his N.E.W.T.S and he would flee Britain. He planned to work somewhere in France. His parents had insisted on learning the language, so he decided he'd start a new life in baguette land and put it to good use.

He didn't meet anyone's eye as he walked to the table and sat alone in the emptiest part. He felt bitter just being here. The same stuffy old wooden tables with those _infuriating _chairs that had no backs. If he had to step one leg over and awkwardly pull round the other, he thought he might scream.

He thought it was useless that Hogwarts had decided to re-sort all of their students after the war. Their reason was that trauma changed people and considering their decision to enrol those students affected, McGonagall decreed that everyone be re-evaluated. He supposed the one thing that would change would be house-based perception. Having all the original Slytherins and death-eater offspring back in the dungeons would raise more than a few eyebrows. Too bad Slytherin's founder was still an evil cunt who decided to hide a monstrous snake inside the walls of a school where thousands of children lived.

Preposterous idea. No wonder he didn't go telling the rest of the founders.

Only a few people so far had stayed in their original houses. Weasel and Potty sat at Gryffindor smugly, basking in the attention from younger, adoring students.

Longbottom was in Slytherin, Pansy was in Hufflepuff, and Blaise was in Gryffindor. It seemed like the world had been flipped on its head and pissed on.

Draco supposed that in all reality, it had.

He stared at the wooden tabletop for the remainder of the ceremony, only looking up when some snotty seventh year prefect stood in front of him. "Get up. We're going to the dormitories now."

* * *

Hermione felt foreign in her skin. The Ravenclaw dormitories were far from Gryffindors. This house was high in the west tower, and she found the new pathway unsettling. She also found her lack of friends unsettling. The only person she really knew here was ferret-fuck Malfoy, who looked like a kicked puppy all day. Why he got put _here_ she had no clue. She didn't spare much time thinking about it.

She decided to distract herself with her surroundings while students chattered excitedly around her. The common room was quite beautiful, and she immediately found an appreciation for the sheer number of books. Shelves covered a whole wall, and she was outraged that her new home had its own library.

Why the _fuck _wasn't she put here in the first place?

The orange-blue light of sunset that filtered through stained-glass windows was intensely calming, and she found herself marvelling over ancient astronomy equipment.

Perhaps this year she could invest her time differently. Maybe give divination a chance… but the memory of professor Trelawney irritated her immediately. The memory of her senseless buggy-eyed face swam before her eyes and she clenched her jaw.

Perhaps not.

She listened as the prefects got everyone's attention and began allocating rooms. Boys to the left, girls to the right. As always.

As the youngest filed away first, she got vision of Malfoy skulking in the corner of the huge room. He seemed to make himself as small and unassuming as possible. She looked away.

Eighth year students were called last, and she found that there were a couple of familiar faces, though she'd hardly talked to them before. They came from Hufflepuff and Slytherin. There wasn't a soul she knew from Gryffindor as her eyes scanned the room with dwindling hope.

She, on principle, avoided looking at Malfoy again.

"Hermione Granger, you'll be in room 12 on the top level." She didn't hesitate to leave. She wanted to be alone so badly. This day had been difficult and exhausting. Despite the repairs, coming back here was an emotional challenge. She thought that by the end of her adolescence she would be ready to get a job in the wizarding world with some fantastic and exciting opportunity. Though she knew now that the job industry was equally as bland as in the muggle world, she didn't think she would still be sleeping in gender allocated dorms like a child. Luckily enough she had a small room to herself. She realised why when she arrived. It was in the spire of the tower. She was living in the Hogwarts equivalent of an attic. Only one other door was across from her.

Upon seeing her belongings, she collapsed on the bed, closed the curtains, and slept through dinner.

* * *

Draco quickly became resigned to the fact that absolutely nobody wanted him here. They treated him like a bad smell, turning up their noses and looking away. When he entered his new common room, he found himself pleasantly surprised. It was _bright_. There were _windows. _What a luxury.

The sunset skimmed over the collection of books in the room, glinting off the gold-leaf titles.

The dreadful old hat was right. The needed a change of scenery.

He hadn't a clue on who to expect in here. It certainly wasn't Golden Girl herself Granger. He knew he wasn't concentrating but he didn't know how he'd missed the Trio being dismembered. He suddenly wished he saw the looks on Ron and Harry's faces. He'd been sentient enough to hear them be sorted_ back_ into Gryffindor. Everything after that was an anger-fuelled haze. As usual.

He watched her from his alcove as she fingered over the surface of a globe. He decided to avoid her along with everyone else. No matter that she was the only person he recognised. She seemed to likewise want nothing to do with him. That was pleasing.

Room 13. What a shame. He'd been given the unluckiest room in the tower, and he was sure it was not by accident. The room was small and had a violently slanted roof, but he was thankful for the privacy. He dreamt of living alone for as long as he could remember. There was a decently sized window, a bed, a wardrobe and a small faucet in the corner. He supposed he could manage to find a small desk and chair somewhere. Maybe nick one from a classroom one night away from Filch and his filthy feline. There wasn't much room for personal belongings.

His of which were already there. He didn't own much anymore. The school even had to provide him with extra uniforms and robes.

He wasn't hungry. In fact, he felt sick. Bile burnt his throat. White noise had roared in his ears the whole day, and he tried to ignore flashbacks of his fellow pupils being murdered in the halls not two years ago.

Mostly because of his doing.

How the _fuck _was he ever let back into this place?

He didn't leave his room for the next two days.

He cried himself to sleep those nights.


	2. Chapter 2

Hello!

Sending a big shoutout to my good friend TheBookworm121 for helping me with frantically re-titling this work, since I used Blue Beginnings as a placeholder in my enthusiasm to post. Check out her work here on under the same handle, her work is addictive to say the least!

* * *

Walking through the halls to class felt strange. She was alone all day. Usually, Harry and Ron had flanked her. This year they only had one class together, which was potions. With Snape gone, Horace Slughorn kept the position. Seeing the familiar pair of red and black heads perched in the middle of the classroom, Hermione hurried to sidle in next to them. Pulling out her stuff, she flashed them a smile. She hadn't seen them since the sorting last night. Usually it would feel like an eternity, but they'd been separated for lunch longer under much worse conditions. Still, it felt strange not to spend the evening with them in the Gryffindor common room.

"Hey Hermione," Harry said, "the dorms felt like they were missing something without you there last night. I honestly can't believe you're in Ravenclaw now… Promise you'll still root for me in quidditch?" He sent her a lopsided smile and she grinned.

Hermione supposed that yes, quidditch would continue.

"Well I'm not going to cheer for Malfoy, that's for sure. Are you thinking of trying out?"

"What else is there to do in this place, right?" he grinned, and for a second, everything had a semblance of normality.

"Oh yeah. What a development. the ferret and you are sharing a house now. How bloody cosy. Who else is taking part in the orgy? Cormac McLaggen? Victor Krum?" Ron snarled, malice in his tone. Hermione frowned at him. Harry raised his eyebrows.

"What are you on about?" She snapped, not willing to deal with Ron's erratic emotions _this _early in the school year, let alone the day. Since the war he'd become so bitter. Seeing Fred's corpse did terrible things to his psyche. It wasn't enough to be on the run from the most dangerous wizard of all time; he had lost a brother in the process.

When he didn't respond, Harry did. "Don't be stupid."

Ron continued to stare at the desk angrily.

"I thought we agreed we would try to work on this?" Hermione offered, resting her hand on his comfortingly. "We went through so much together… don't you think it's worth a shot?"

Over the break between the fall of Voldemort and the start of the new term, Ron had quite literally drowned his sorrows in alcohol. Too many times her and Harry would find out where he was… only because he'd been kicked out. Too many times they'd saved him from making stupid decisions, and too many times Ron had reacted angrily towards them.

She worried it would become a permanent fixture of his personality.

Ron snatched his hand away coldly. "Well we can't do that in different fucking houses, can we? We would have hardly seen each other as it was. You're planning to study all year, aren't you? As bloody usual."

"Ron, mate. What is it? It's not Hermione's fault she wasn't put with us." Harry interjected, looking increasingly angry at Ron's behaviour. "You're being… childish."

Ron went violently red. He swept his stationery into his bag haphazardly, spilling his ink everywhere in the process and cursing loudly. A quill stabbed him in the finger and he punched the desk in aggravation, splintering the wood.

Ink seeped into the cracks.

"Weasel." A flat voice floated up from behind them. "You really should've cast an anti-spill charm on that. I believe we learnt it when we were 12?" Malfoy drawled as he settled behind them, levitating his writing instruments onto the table gracefully.

Ron froze.

Draco looked around. "You know I think it was in this exact room, actually. Someone, probably the likes of _you _was a clumsy bastard and Snape taught it to the class. Repeat after me Weasley-"

"Shut it, Malfoy." Harry said, trying to dispel the situation.

Hermione looked up at Ron's face and felt sick for a second. If Ron's temper was bad before, it was positively malignant now.

"You." He seethed, and Malfoy looked up to his face. He seemed taken-aback at the unbridled anger in Ron's tone as his face contorted into an ugly sneer. "You _motherfucker_." He raised his wand and pointed it between Malfoy's blond eyebrows.

His pale face stayed marble as ever, and he sighed, sounding tired. "Weasley, put the wand down." He rolled his eyes and picked up a quill, gingerly dipping it in his own immaculate ink pot. "Everything else _may_ be my fault, but this ones on you."

Ron seethed. "You talk to me again, and I'll fucking finish you. You should be dead already, you _useless_ piece of squirming _shit_." He turned and stormed out of the classroom, running into three chairs before slamming the door shut behind him.

"He's right, you know." Malfoy said, writing the date in immaculate cursive.

"Whatever, Malfoy," Harry sighed, looking painfully exhausted "I'd avoid provoking him, if I were you. It'll make your life a hell of a lot easier."

"What's that? The trio is falling apart. Never thought I'd see the day." He said quietly, almost to himself, but loud enough for them to hear.

"Just _sod off_, Malfoy." Harry said curtly, turning his back on him. Harry had already explicitly told Hermione he didn't want _any _drama this last year at Hogwarts. He didn't even really need to be here. Harry Potter had every opportunity in the world, but he thought he needed time to consider his future. Unsurprisingly, Ron decided to tag along.

Hermione didn't think this was the right place for him.

She found herself glad that she didn't have to deal with him as much, in all honesty. After the last three months she really did _not _want to continue lugging him out of his own messes. She'd done it for this long, and she was ready to _not_ be on the lookout for someone else's stupid decisions. Finally. She was looking forward to isolating herself in her studies. This would be the first year in her whole Hogwarts career where she would be able to focus without some world-ending distraction weighing on her shoulders. She planned on making it bloody count.

Potions went smoothly. Slughorn did his usual bit, introducing the term agenda and already beginning to dote over his favourite students. Afterwards, her day was over, and she and Harry decided to sit outside in the rapidly fading spring weather. Coldness was seeping into the castle, and the sun had begun to lose its warmth.

She transfigured the grass into a blanket, and they sat together with food they smuggled out, with the help of the house elves of course. Harry was still devastated from Dobby's death, but he tried to be positive.

"It's nice to be back here, isn't it?" he said, taking a bite of a cucumber and cheese sandwich. As he serenely looked out at the trees bordering the forbidden forest, she couldn't bring herself to say no.

"Yeah. It can be… comforting," she offered, sipping on pumpkin juice. "Almost feels like none of it happened."

"Almost," he agreed, "but not quite. You know Neville is in Slytherin now?" He looked at her, an incredulous grin on his face. "

That's a development. We should really find him soon and see how he is. I hope he's in one of my classes."

Harry agreed.

They admired the grounds in silence.

"I don't think I can be with Ron." Hermione forced out, verbalising something for the first time that she'd kept only in her head. This morning's performance in potions made her realise even if he _did _lose the temper, he'd still be the same Ron. Sure, she'd loved him once, but war changes people. They dealt with their pain in different ways, and it pulled them apart. If only they had found solace in each other.

The problem was that they _didn't. _

Ron found it by the bottle and Hermione found it by, well, ignoring it. She had her nose in a book constantly.

Harry didn't react. "I thought so."

She was surprised but continued with honesty. "He just reminds me too much of it all. The running and hiding. The whole time I was frantically worried he'd die, you know. Now I feel like I have nothing left to give… if he's not going to give anything back." She said with finality.

Harry nodded. "He's not… the same. I see how he is towards you and its worse than how he is towards me."

"None of us are the same…" she tried humbly to defend Ron.

"Yes, but we're still _us. _Just… a bit more fucked up, you know? He's different," he said, addressing the elephant in the room. Or more precisely, _not_ in the room. Ron disappeared a lot nowadays.

"We can't give up on him." She sighed, picking at some cucumber.

"I'm not saying that, but… you don't need to feel… obliged to love him. I don't have to. I can walk away whenever I please. You should be able to as well, Hermione. You love him… but you're not _in love _with him." He picked his words very carefully.

She felt confronted. But she also felt liberated, releasing all the breath in her chest before sucking the last remnants of warmth into her lungs.

"You're right, Harry." He visibly relaxed. "You're lucky to have Ginny. I can tell you're… _in _love. I am envious of you." She said with unguarded honesty. She and Harry didn't often get time to themselves.

He nodded. "Thanks, Hermione. And don't worry. You're way too much of a catch. You can do better than him."

She picked at her sandwich again and nodded.

They continued the afternoon light-heartedly, only leaving once the sun began to set.

* * *

Draco sat in the Ravenclaw common room, feeling suspiciously comfortable. He chose a window seat. Being in the dungeons for years, he hardly got to see the grounds from above. It was a breathtaking sight. He was reminded of playing quidditch, and felt his fingers twitch desperately for a broom. He hadn't flown in what felt like a lifetime. Perhaps he should try out for quidditch… he missed the exercise and exhilaration of being in the air. Hearing crowds cheer as he and Potter's rivalry was put on full display. He didn't want that now, but at the time it was an event he looked forward to.

Now he didn't have much to look forward to at all. Graduation, he supposed.

He had been working on his ancient runes and was glad to focus on something as trivial as schoolwork. In comparison to his recent stresses, this was simple and relaxing. He enjoyed learning.

It was dark now, and most of the students had retired to their beds. In the Slytherin common room, people stayed up late drinking banned alcohol and playing games. He assumed that was more a result of privilege than an inherent Slytherin streak.

In Ravenclaw they played wizards chess, read books and had quiet conversations. The whole room was cloaked in hushed words and tinkling laughs. The occasional flipping of a page and the constant scratching of a quill on parchment was the tune of the house.

A perfect environment conducive to his studies.

He thought of Weasley's reaction today. What a bloody fruitcake. He supposed he shouldn't have said anything, but the scene was just so nostalgic he had to do _something _to make it feel normal. When Ron turned to him, he looked like another person.

He guessed some were more affected than others. War ruined people in different ways.

He heard the door open, the bronze eagle knocker bumping the wood quietly as the door closed and the sound of wards reappeared. He didn't bother to look. Probably some third-year breaking curfew. He didn't care for such things.

A few seconds passed, and he didn't hear footsteps scuttling up the staircase, as was standard for sneaking youth. In fact, he heard breathing from behind him.

"Are you taking ancient runes?" A curious voice asked, obviously prying on his desk.

He knew that voice all too well. He rested his quill onto the desk. "I'd prefer if you didn't pry into my life, Granger." He replied flatly.

Instead of leaving she pulled up a seat next to him. He sighed, turning to look at her.

"What is it?" he asked tiredly.

"I came to apologise about Ron today," she replied, looking like she didn't want to be there.

Draco rolled his eyes. "His juvenile behaviour has nothing to do with you."

"I know." She said, not offering much else to the conversation she decided to begin.

"Then why are you sitting here? Don't bother trying to be my friend out of pity, Granger. I'm fine by myself. You won't find me hanging from the rafters, just as I don't suspect I'll find you."

She huffed, looking around her. She was surprised to see the room dark and virtually empty. She checked her watch. 8pm. What a stark difference from Gryffindor. "I'm not here to be your mate, Malfoy. Hang from the rafters all you like; I'm just trying to be civil." She was too tired for this shit. _His _shit more specifically. She didn't know why she'd become so arrogantly averse to people. She preferred to be solitary most of the time, and the only person she could manage to civilly connect with was Harry. "Since you don't seem to want my courtesy then, I'll kindly _fuck off, _and expect yourself to do the same." And with that, she walked away, leaving her chair strewn annoyingly in his space.

He picked up his quill and continued work as if nothing had happened.


	3. Chapter 3

An owl tapped on his window in the early hours of the morning. _Who in the bloody_ fuck _is sending me owls at_… he wrenched open his curtains and looked at the clock_; five am_? He got up, still naked, and thrust open the old window with a prolonged screech, chilly air swirling into the stuffy room. Snatched the letter from the Hogwarts barn owl, he fed it with his fingers from the container he kept by the window. It hooted in thanks and began preening itself, digging its hooked beak into fluffed feathers. He watched it pensively for a few seconds before turning his eyes to the window. It was still quite dark outside. The sky had taken on a hazy morning hue, the ever-present fog thick enough so that he could barely see the trees bordering the forbidden forest. He trained his eyes back to the parchment in his hand. The seal was a deep red and stamped with the Headmistresses stationery.

_Draco Malfoy. _

_Please see me at 8am today. _

_Headmistress McGonagall. _

He knew this was coming. Of course, he wasn't let off scot free. He had hours' worth of community service to perform to maintain his probation. In all honesty, he was surprised when the kids of death eaters weren't thrown in jail right alongside their parents. Before he entered the courtrooms, he fully expected to be sent to rot away in a cell in Azkaban. He knew they'd all committed crimes, perhaps the youth less so than the older generation, but they still agreed to take part in what would very easily be called a violently racist movement. Draco never understood why the rest of the wizard world, and the vast muggle population, didn't do anything.

Surely people had to know what was going on.

Muggles had numbers and firepower. At least, that's what Hogwarts had taught him in fifth year muggle studies. The whole time Voldemort had taken control over his family's manor, wealth, and sanity, Draco would fall asleep hoping he'd wake up and that _someone _had done _something._

Most of the time he wished he wouldn't wake up at all.

The rest of the time he never went to sleep.

The owl hooted at him softly, nudging his hand with its head. He gave it more food and it settled itself before taking off, its wings unfurling as it steadily flew into the mist.

Now he was awake. He supposed he should get dressed and start some work. His body was itching to do some exercise, but he hadn't a broom. All of his equipment was seized along with everything else.

He threw on his robes and collected some schoolwork, intending to head to the library.

Upon exiting his door, he saw the room across from his. Room 12. He wondered briefly who the sorry sod was who got to live in the mirror image of his cell of a room.

* * *

Hermione was already awake. She was doing some arithmancy study. Her room was warm, and her hair still smelled like the fireplace downstairs. She was in her flannels, a quill in her mouth and a frown on her face. She saw a shadow enlarging outside her window and watched as an owl carefully perched on her windowsill. She rolled off her already-made bed and opened up, gently undoing the leather clasp and absentmindedly feeding the owl as thanks.

She didn't check the seal as she unrolled the parchment and saw familiar handwriting:

_Hermione, _

_Please attend my office at 8am this morning. _

_Yours, _

_Headmistress McGonagall. _

She wondered what it could be about. A while ago she had signed up for position of library assistant, but things got so hectic she'd never heard back. She hoped it was in regard to that, now that she had the time. The idea of spending her evenings sorting books gave her a warm comfort. She'd gain an even more rigorous knowledge of what books were there. Sometimes she thought the least path of resistance would be to take over Madam Pince's position and literally spend the rest of her life in the Hogwarts library.

She decided that would become horribly boring.

She wanted to discover wizarding populations and customs worldwide and working in the ministry of magic would be a start. The wanted to revolutionise it from the inside out. Being the minister of magic, itself seemed like a pipe dream… but every so often she would indulge herself in the fantasy.

She had so many ideas. There was so much she would change.

She returned to her bed-cum-desk and finished off two more inches of parchment with a satisfied sigh.

* * *

McGonagall looked at the two over her glasses. She didn't have a hair out of place, and her demeanour was catlike as ever. Draco and Hermione sat across from her, Hermione eagerly awaiting her words and Draco dreading them.

"I've called you here to discuss work we desperately need done in the library. Draco, I understand a condition of your parole is community service?"

He nodded imperceptibly.

"And I also understand the Malfoy's had all their assets and accounts stripped?"

He blinked at her, wondering what she was getting at. He didn't need a reminder of the absolute failure of his family. He hated them enough already for ruining his life and fucking up his mind. He'd discovered that thinking for yourself meant a lot of independent study. Over the holidays he relished his time before Hogwarts and threw himself into the only library he could find, since his own had been seized, though he doubted he'd have gotten the same experience there anyway; the London Library. Had anyone from Hogwarts walked in they'd do a double – no, triple take. They'd find Draco Malfoy in thrifted muggle clothing reading Karl Marx's prose and Simone de Beauvoir's second wave feminism. He enjoyed Shakespeare's and Brecht's plays. Most importantly of all, he devoured Frantz Fanon and Martin Luther King Jr. Thinking took a lot of dedication, and he concluded that everything he'd been taught to think and say had been a disgusting lie.

McGonagall continued. "I'll offer a wage to the both of you if you give Madam Pince a hand in the library this year. Hermione, you did sign up for the solitary volunteer position a while ago, but at this stage the necessary workload has… increased somewhat."

The war gutted the library, and though many books survived, countless tomes still needed repair.

"Madam Pince simply cannot do it alone, and I trust you both have the skill to execute the task well. I suggest working together to maximise productivity. We want these books repaired as soon as possible, as they're the student's only port of call for information. Unfortunately, we cannot use this new and fantastic Internet that muggles have invented, so this is all we've got. The sheer amount of magic here interferes with it too much."

Draco looked confused.

Hermione smiled and nodded.

She refused to show the absolute crushing disappointment she felt. She did _not _want to spend her time repairing books with Draco Malfoy. He was a foul bigot who spent most of his life wishing her dead. She couldn't seriously be expected to work alongside him.

McGonagall continued, not waiting for their input. "You'll have unlimited access to the restricted section and a shared key."

Hermione flicked her eyes over to Malfoy worriedly. Unlimited access to the restricted section? Should Malfoy of all people be given this liberty? Considering exactly how he made us of the restricted section previously…

She looked back to McGonagall, who had already been watching her pointedly. "I trust the _both _of you with this task." Hermione knew the emphasis was directed to her alone. Malfoy wasn't untrustworthy.

Apparently.

"Thank you, headmistress. We will get onto it right away." Replied Hermione quietly, professional as always.

Malfoy merely nodded.

Then they left.

This day was full of surprises for Draco. He couldn't believe how lightly he got off. He was getting paid _and _he got to slink around the library whenever he pleased. The only downside was working with swotty old Granger, but that he could handle for his eventual freedom.

They walked down the stairs side by side, existing into the vast halls. He stopped and turned to her, not hesitating to organise their rendezvous. "When shall we begin?"

She didn't respond to him, instead narrowing her eyes and snapping out that she would keep the key, Malfoy.

He rolled his eyes. "Sure. Again, _when shall we begin_?"

She crossed her arms, on the defence. "I don't know what _your_ schedule is, but I will be there this evening. And every evening afterwards. I want to get these books fixed for the school, because I will probably need to use a lot of them myself." She turned and began to walk away, deeming the conversation to be over.

"Granger!" He snapped pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose in a bid to cool his annoyance. "I hope you realise that I, in no way, am looking to _fuck_ this up. If I get this year over with, that's most of my court order out of the way. Just tell me a time and I'll be there."

She whipped to face him. "Do I look like I give a _fuck _about your freedom?"

She really didn't. He thought as she stalked towards him, pushing a finger against his chest. He hair was a flurry and her eyes looked livid.

"When I signed up for this, I expected to have the library to _myself_. Having a good time during my last year _certainly _didn't involve having _your _feline nose hanging about every night." She hissed through her teeth and removed the pressure from his sternum. He merely stared down at her, not offering a reply.

She rolled her eyes and sighed violently, looking around them as if someone would burst out of an alcove and save her from this fate.

Finally, "meet me at 9," she demanded and strode away without another word towards Madam Pince's office.

Bloody _fucking _Malfoy, she thought, turning a corner and stalking through the halls she knew so well. This was supposed to be _fun, _and if anyone could have fun in a library, it was Hermione Granger. She wondered if she could just off him somehow, but she decided murder wasn't worth alone time with books.

Almost, but not quite.

She conceded to herself that they would simply not work _around _each other. They could set up on opposite sides. They wouldn't even need to _see _each other.

The thought pleased her right up until she entered the library. She immediately noticed the change. Against a far wall, one huge desk had been set up with a variety of bookbinding instruments. It was a long desk with two sets of identical tools. They would obviously be sitting there together. A huge pile of damaged books was already split between either side, with Madam Pince levitating more from her desk while she lazily sipped at a tea.

"Good morning, Hermione," she said with out of character light-heartedness. "Thanks for taking up this job. I suspect you will both do fine work on these books, merlin you're both in here enough." She chuckled, taking another sip before dunking a biscuit sloppily.

Was Malfoy a regular at the library? She'd hardly seen him here, and merlin knows she was here a lot.

"I came to get our key. It is shared, I believe?" She tried, hoping feebly she would be given two. She adjusted the overfull bookbag on her shoulder. It was a Friday and she had 4 classes to attend. She pulled out her wand and re-casted a weightlessness charm, hoping this one didn't wear off so quickly in her haste.

Reaching into a drawer, Madam Pince handed Hermione a huge bronze key. It was heavy in her hands. She slipped it into her bag and expressed her thanks before finding a table to sit at by a window. She was already here, and her next class was in little over an hour. She began working on potions.

* * *

At nine that night, Hermione arrived outside the huge wooden doors to the library. She told herself she would wait for two whole minutes before entering by herself and locking the doors behind her. She didn't care for tardiness, and much less tardiness due to the likes of Malfoy.

She was disappointed to hear footsteps behind her. She caught sight of his blond hair and grimaced. Honestly, how did it manage to be iridescent in the darkness? She narrowed her eyes as he advanced towards her.

"What is it?" he asked, confronted by her expression.

"Nothing you can help with. It's your presence that irritates me, so unless you'd like to leave?"

He groaned at her tone. "Just open the bloody door, Granger. Let's get this done with minimal talking, shall we?"

"You have some fucking _nerve _considering the reason you're here, Ferret," she bit back acidly. She huffed at his bored expression and spun on her heel, sliding the key smoothly into the lock and turning it. The door opened of its own accord.

He barely got over the threshold before she flicked her wand behind her shoulder, slamming the heavy door shut dangerously behind them.

She'd been in the library plenty at night, and she was used to sneaking around in the darkness that shrouded the endless shelves. She padded over the floor silently, Malfoy just as quietly at her heels.

She took her seat in silence and lit the lamp over the desk, basking them in a warm glow. The rest of the library was pitch black.

They worked in complete silence for hours.

They continued to work in silence for the next week.


	4. Chapter 4

Weaving through students and pillars, Harry burst into the great hall. He found Ron, already scoffing down his breakfast muffin, and sat next to him. Everyone had been summoned to the Great Hall this morning for an important announcement, and he'd heard whispers around the halls of what it entailed.

He was beyond excited. He hoped McGonagall didn't disappoint and announce some problem with first years pulling pranks like she had the other day.

Apparently Quidditch trials were reopening for the first time since the war began.

"Morning Ron." He said brightly, grabbing an apple and taking a bite.

"Morn' Harry." Ron chewed around a mouthful of food.

He looked around the hall, taking note of how different it looked. His eyes found Hermione, sitting at the Slytherin table chatting to Neville. More and more, people were becoming comfortable with sitting wherever. It was a new and welcome development, and he decided it had been far too long since he'd had a chat with Neville. Ron was invested in a conversation with Ginny, so Harry slipped away easily.

"Harry!" Neville caught his eye as he walked over and sent him a welcoming grin, "come, sit."

Harry had just planted himself down next to the pair when McGonagall stood to face the bustling hall.

"Students." A hush fell over the vast room. Everyone was anticipating this. "We have a very exciting announcement to make." She paused for dramatic effect. "The staff and I have organised to begin Quidditch trials next week." The hall flooded with excited whispers, and Hermione smiled at Harry. She knew he had been waiting for this.

"There will be a team for each house, and anyone who pleases is able to participate. Trials will begin a week from now on the field at 9am sharp. We hope to see you there." And with that she sat down and drank from her goblet.

The hall erupted into deafening conversation.

"Harry! Will you try out again for seeker?" Neville asked over the noise and took a bite of his toast.

"I suppose I'll try. I've missed being on the team, but I obviously haven't had much time to practise. My broom is a bit worse for wear but I'm sure it'll do the job."

"Harry I'm sure you'll do great," Hermione offered. She'd seen Harry and Ron every day, and as the week progressed, Ron seemed to settle back into the routine of school life. Meaning, he still failed to do any work. Hermione refused to help him and Harry anymore. Being in a different house made it easier to reject Ron's constant whining for her to assist him in his studies.

_She, _on the other hand, was ahead on everything.

She looked back to Neville. "Will you try your hand at quidditch, Neville? Last chance to be on the Hogwarts team. What a sight to see you in Slytherin colours!"

Neville burst out laughing. "Hermione, I may have killed a giant murderous snake, but there is no way I'm _ever_ going to be skilled on a broom. I'll stay with you on the sidelines."

Harry and Hermione laughed, and for just a moment, all was well in the world.

* * *

Later, Hermione prepared to begin her nightly trek down to the library. She pulled her cloak over a warm outfit. In merely a week, the castle felt like it had dropped about ten degrees. She collected her wand, and the heavy key she kept disillusioned in her wardrobe and headed towards the door.

As she turned the handle, she thought about how many books her and Malfoy had repaired. McGonagall had been right. Two people working together was a lot faster. They had wordlessly created a system of organisation. Every night there was a new stack to be mended, and the followed the same system.

Initially, they separated the books in terms of degree of damage. They began with the worst and finished with the least affected. It made the end of the session easier on the both of them, since using magic for hours straight became both physically and mentally taxing. They'd already fixed around 200 books, but there were still many more to go.

Some seemed almost beyond repair, but with a bit of creativity from the both of them, they'd only come across a few that were lost forever. She felt having any book in that state was deeply regrettable.

She opened her door and found Malfoy's, now familiar, face staring back at her.

They both paused in their tracks.

"What are you doing outside my room, Malfoy?" she said accusingly, looking him up and down with crossed arms.

A smirk grew over his face slowly as they both came to the realisation. She wished this wasn't happening.

"Well, then. Secrets out. Seems like we're floor mates, Granger. Tell me, does your room also have a hideously slanted roof?"

"Of _course, _I find you slinking around the room across from mine_," _she seethed, "I can't seem to bloody get away from you, can I?"

"One can't possibly _slink around _in their own room." He shrugged, leaning back onto his doorframe. "Are you heading to the library?"

"Where else would I be going at this time of night?" He merely looked at her, seemingly waiting for a definitive reply. She rolled her eyes exasperatedly. "Yes, I'm going to the library, god. Why do you have to ask such inane questions?"

He ignored her insult. "Shall we, then?" He extended an arm in front of them, signalling for her to walk ahead.

She muttered a string of expletives before walking down the stairs and through the common room, Malfoy at her heels.

"Since we live across from each other, perhaps we should utter a word or two sometimes." He offered while they strode through the darkened halls, already having spent half the journey in silence.

"Malfoy, I'm not your friend."

"Then why did you apologise about Ron last week?" He shot back with one blond eyebrow raised.

His question caught her off guard, and though she had already asked herself this, she didn't expect him to. Why _did_ she go to Malfoy that night? She didn't really _care _that Ron blew up in potions, and she certainly wasn't trying to make Malfoy feel_ better_ about provoking him. She replied with the only way she'd managed to rationalise it.

"I just didn't want any drama for Harry and I this year. We're finished with that juvenile behaviour."

He hummed, nodding. "Fair enough. Can you stop ignoring me every night, then? I'm beginning to feel like I've done terrible, horrible things, which is _preposterous._" He made light of the fact that he _had _in fact done terrible, preposterous things.

In truth, Malfoy had tried to start conversation a few times. Only to be either completely ignored or shot a monosyllabic answer.

He eventually stopped trying. If she didn't want to talk to him then he wouldn't keep pestering her.

"Draco I would rather not go into the reasons why I don't want to be your chum."

He sighed. "Well for what it's worth, which isn't much, I do apologise. For all of it. "

"You're right, it's not worth much," she responded, not faltering a step or turning to acknowledge him.

He nodded stiffly, feeling foolish. Of course, she wouldn't forgive him or accept an apology. Not that long ago he'd stood by and watched while his family brutalised her on his antique Prussian carpet.

They continued in silence until she unlocked the library door. "Perhaps we may discuss the books at hand," she said quietly. "Only because the lack of conversation is tiring me."

"Sure," he said, knowing he sounded a little too enthusiastic. They settled into their seats and began the routine. Find the most damaged. Split them. Repeat.

Hermione pulled _The Wretched of the Earth_ in front of her. The Hogwarts library didn't have a huge selection of muggle literature, and not surprisingly, a lot of it seemed to have been selectively destroyed during the battle of Hogwarts.

"That one is a magnificent read," Malfoy commented quietly, his eyes scanning the title in front of her. It was an unremarkable-looking black hardcover with a faded title.

"You can't be _serious_," she deadpanned, turning to stare him right in the eyes.

He continued, not catching onto her incredulity. "I think his analysis of colonisation and systemic racism is... painfully accurate. The French copy is a much more enjoyable read, though."

She blinked at him before breathing in deeply, her voice beginning to waver. She was beginning to feel uncomfortable. "Malfoy what are you playing at?"

"You said we could talk about the books... am I mistaken?" He was frowning.

"In what world have you read_ this_?" She brandished the spineless book in front of him, waving it frantically.

"Well, they had multiple copies at the London library. I assume it's quite popular muggle literature."

She choked. "I can't believe my fucking ears," she said seriously, as if his reading habits offended her. She looked up at the ceiling and closed her eyes.

_What the fuck is going on? What is Malfoy on about. Am I dreaming? Have I gone mad? _

Suddenly she slapped herself. Hard. The noise ricocheted off the shelves.

"Granger. What the _fuck_?"

She opened her eyes and brought them back down to his. "I thought I might be having a nightmare."

"Have you gone mad?" He asked disbelievingly. His eyes flew around her face.

"Have I?" She all but shouted. "What the hell are _you_ doing reading about anti-colonialist literature in the London Library?"

He blinked. "Well, the library in the Manor was seized along with everything else after my trial. Not that my particular interests would've been found there anyway..."

"And what are your particular interests, exactly, Malfoy?"

His eyes bore into hers. "I needed to find out precisely what I'd missed out on. Everything I was told that was wrong turned out to be... kind of wonderful."

She didn't reply. He continued. "I spent most of the break at that library reading literature and science. I particularly enjoyed Shakespeare. I tried to breach into philosophy, but it was so vast and in-depth that I didn't get far into it. I mostly read introductory texts. Charles Darwin was also a favourite. The history of evolution is truly fascinating."

She looked at him like someone had replaced her eyeballs with googly stick-ons. He ran a hand through his hair. His usually pale marble skin looked flushed.

"Can you stop looking at me like I've grown a second head?"

"Well, you kind of just did." She looked away. Back to the task at hand. Her mind was racing as she began to rectify the spine. She didn't know what to do or think or say.

After a time; "I didn't know you spoke French."

"Why would you?"

"Good point." There was a silence. The sound of the spine stitching itself back together broke it.

"My parents insisted I learn while I grew up. I had a tutor. I wasn't properly exposed to French culture, though. Just the same sort of material I was... permitted to learn, I guess. My father did a horrifically good job of blacklisting a swathe of things I was forbidden to get my grubby little hands on." He pursed his lips down at the book in front of him.

She nodded but didn't reply, and they fell into silent work, only talking to comment on the state of the books they repaired. Hermione was reeling. Who stole Malfoy and replaced him with someone who spends their spare time reading muggle literature and trying to "breach into philosophy"? Was he playing some cruel trick on her? She resolved that the only way she could conceptualise that short but mind-blowing conversation with him was to consult McGonagall. At least she could trust her judgement.

* * *

"Oh, Hermione. To what do I owe the visit?" Mcgonagall said when Hermione bustled through the door of her office early the next morning.

"There's something off about Malfoy," she declared. "I think his memory has been tampered with or something."

McGonagall looked alarmed. "What do you mean?"

"Well, last night he was telling me about how he spent his whole holidays reading muggle literature and science at the London Library! I couldn't believe my ears. Something here is _very_ wrong." She shook her head seriously, lowering her voice to a whisper. "I suspect he needs to be interrogated by the ministry. Some Veratiserum should solve this." She paced fervently, hands swinging wildly.

McGonagall stared at her, understanding filtering into her wise eyes. "Hermione, Draco is not lying. We have been in contact over the break. I was the one who recommended the books."

Hermione felt the blood drain from her previously flushed complexion. "You're joking." She said flatly, letting out all the air she held in her chest and flopping down onto the seat opposite the Headmistress.

"I assure you I am not, but I understand your weariness. I do not expect you to forgive him, but I do ask that you try not to demonise him. It'll only tire you out. He spent months trying to build a new life at Andromeda's. It is... a violent process to try unlearn such deeply ingrained ideology." Hermione gaped at her.

_Oh. _

She was speechless.

"Now I would like to continue this conversation, but I have a few pressing matters on my hands and-"

Hermione shot up. "Yes, of course. I'm terribly sorry for barging in here like that-"

"I understand your uneasiness. But now you know."

"Yes. Well, thank you, Headmistress." She rushed out of the room and flew through the corridors to breakfast. Instead of going to Harry and Ron as usual, she sat in front of Malfoy at their Ravenclaw table. He was alone, as she usually found him. "You're not lying."

He raised his eyes from the perfectly ripe peach he was inspecting, surprised to find the Golden Girl being seen near him in public. "Sorry?"

"I thought you were taking the piss... Last night?" She tried, her eyes searching his.

"Oh." He looked back down and took the first, juicy bite, chewing thoughtfully. "I don't blame you." She watched as his tongue darted out to taste the nectar on his lips.

"I spoke to McGonagall…"

His eyes flashed, and he rested his peach-filled palm on the table. "Why are you nosing into my business, Granger? I can handle myself just fine." But then, he sighed at himself, calming his tone when he saw hurt flit almost imperceptibly across her face. He sucked some wayward juice from his thumb. "Isn't it easier if we just keep it to the library? I'm a social pariah so just… stay away. It's more trouble than it's worth." And with that he wrapped his fingers around the peach and stood up, his height looming above her.

She got up, taking the hint loud and clear. "Alright Malfoy. I'll see you tonight, then." And they split. She didn't watch to see where he was headed as she walked over to the Gryffindor table.

She passed Neville, who sat with Blaise and some other Slytherins. It seemed like he was making new friends, and despite herself, she smiled. Maybe this whole sorting thing _was_ a good idea.

She dropped her bookbag on the table and slid in next to Ron, grabbing a warm croissant and biting into it with a satisfied groan.

"What are you doing talking to _Malfoy?" _Ron asked around his food, as usual.

"Nothing." She brushed it off, changing the subject. "So, are you trying out for quidditch this week?"

"Absolutely. I'm hoping to take over Fred's position," he said, his voice breaking a little at the end. He looked down at the table and swallowed thickly. Hermione rubbed his arm affectionately.

"Look, Hermione. I have something to tell you." He looked nervous, his ears going pink.

"What is it?"

"I'm… I've… started seeing Lavender again." He spoke hurriedly. "Since were in the same house it just feels so simple, you know?"

Even though Hermione had told Harry that she didn't want to be with Ron, this still came to her as a shock. She leaned away from him.

"Oh." She cleared her throat, "Well. I guess we won't be working on anything, then." She continued in a hollow voice, swallowing the last remnants of her croissant. The noise of the great hall became all so suddenly deafening. She looked around to distract herself from the pang in her chest.

"I'm sorry, Hermione." She heard Ron's voice plead, but it sounded muffled. Hermione was forced to bring herself back to reality. She looked back into Ron's familiar and pleading gaze.

"That's… that's really okay. I chatted to Harry just the other day, and, well. Honestly, I did tell him that I didn't think we would work out as well as we'd hoped." She admitted, letting her worries off her chest.

Ron grimaced. "I'm so sorry, 'mione."

_Fuck_ she hated that nickname.

She supposed it was a good thing that she and Ron weren't together. She couldn't stand for one more second that childish pet-name he'd adopted for her.

"It's okay, Ron. I really do love you. I'm just not _in_ love with you." She repeated Harry's words.

He nodded.

Speaking of the devil, Harry sprung up behind them and ruffled both their hair. He was still in his mud-splattered quidditch uniform. A deep red outfit for a true Gryffindor. Harry had been thriving back at Hogwarts. He finally had time to focus on his studies and practice for quidditch.

Unfortunately, his emotional intelligence remained about as advanced as a goldfish, and he sat down, chatting brightly about the morning's superb flying conditions and the upcoming trial. It was only a couple days from now.

Hermione excused herself and left the great hall, suddenly not so hungry.

She went outside for some air. It was a clear day. She sighed. She could lie to herself and say that she wasn't gutted about Ron. Sure, they were friends, but it had always felt like more. He'd been her emotional safety net. Now she was on her own. That was what she'd wanted though, right? The air was crisp, and the great lake was a glassy blue reflection of the trees and sky. There were still some people practising quidditch, so she decided to take a seat beneath a tree and observe.

Quidditch was something she could never get a hold of. She hadn't necessarily devoted much time to it, but she was sure that if she did, she'd get the hang of it. There were still a few people in red milling around. By the looks of it, the Gryffindor practice had ended. Harry must've shot to the great hall. Always starving that boy.

She saw flashes of blue as another team shot up into the air. It took her a second to remember that Ravenclaw was, in fact,_ her_ team. She tried to identify the riders, but they were simply too far away. They looked skilful, though. She turned and looked into the forbidden forest, wondering whatever became of the creatures that inhabited it. She caught sight of Hagrid's hut, smoke billowing from the chimney as usual, and realised she hadn't even paid him a visit outside their chats around the campus.

God, she felt so self-invested these days. She got up and hurried down the hill, hoping he was there. Walking up to his door, she heard a muffled swear and a smile stole her face. She knocked loudly and heard footsteps.

"Hey 'Ermione! Good to see yeh! Come in, do yeh want a tea?"

"Sure," she smiled, walking into his familiar hut that always smelled of fang's slobber, firewood and mysterious selection meat in different stages of cooked. The big dog spotted her and bounded over. She crouched down and gave him a hug, patting his back and head roughly. He was a big boy.

"How have you been, Hagrid?" she asked, brushing off slobber and fur.

"Not too bad, went into the forest last night to keep an eye on the unicorns. Their numbers have been down since… well… you-kno-"

'Voldemort." She interjected.

He nodded, handing her a huge cup of tea.

"Yeh, him. The forest is a lot less scary without that greasy old sod crawling around out there somewhere. Blimey, Hermione." He shook his head. "I'm so happy yer here. Seeing you three around Hogwarts is so good, anything had gone wrong…"

"Well, it didn't and here we are." She said gently and offered him a smile, taking a sip of his tea. Hagrid wasn't the best cook, but he could boil water and his tea was manageable. "So, it's best not to live in the past."

She knew if she let him dwell on it, he'd cry big sloppy tears. He'd already done it around the three of them twice his week.

"Yer right, 'Ermione, yer right. So, how's book sorting going with the great big git, Malfoy? God he was a weasel of a kid. A real ferret."

She laughed and they continued to converse for the remainder of the hour before she had to head off for potions.


	5. Chapter 5

She left Hagrid's with a full belly and a full heart. The day had progressed, and the sun provided little warmth on her face for her trek back to the castle. There were no players whizzing through the sky, so she assumed Quiddich practice was over. Nearing the castle, she heard noises from the pitch, and saw that the Ravenclaw team hopefuls were jostling each other.

She rolled her eyes at the blatant performance of masculinity shown towards the female players.

Then, Draco Malfoy materialised from around the corner of the grandstands.

He found her eyes immediately and stopped his beeline for the castle. Her steps slowed as she neared him.

"Granger. Why are you sneaking around the pitch? Want to become the next Ravenclaw seeker? I suspect you'll have to fight me for it." He sent her a sly smirk.

She snorted. "I'm hardly _sneaking, _Malfoy. I just paid a visit to Hagrid."

Draco's eyes strayed past over face to find Hagrid's hut. "Huh. I didn't know that big oaf was still here."

"Don't say that about him, Malfoy." She frowned, and he dragged his eyes back to hers. "He's a good friend."

"Fine. He's not a _complete _oaf but he's undeniably big."

She rolled her eyes, and he actually smiled.

It was a strange sight. His hair was tousled from flying, and he was sweaty and muddy. Seeing his porcelain skin smeared with dirt made him seem more human, somehow. He was leaning on his broom casually, grass-stained fingers wrapped around the handle. His teeth were straight and naturally fairly white.

She'd never noticed his teeth before.

By Merlin, even her parents would be proud of those.

She kind of had a thing for teeth.

So, she cleared her throat. "What exactly are _you_ doing, then?"

"Going back to our sorry attic for a shower before potions. Speaking of, what's the time?"

Ours? She felt her cheeks pinken and she checked her watch, letting her hair fall over her face. "It is 9:45."

"Well I'd better hurry, hadn't I?" And with that he sent her another uncharacteristic grin and turned on his heel, jogging away broom in hand.

She watched his calves as he ran off, surprised that she _didn't_ find dismally thin muscles there.

She blinked after him and followed slowly, turning towards Slughorn's classroom.

He'd called it _their_ attic. Had he become fond of the fact they shared opposite sides of the same dismal living quarters? She reflected on how they'd begun to walk back together from the library each night.

_It's merely out of convenience, though. _

She thought he was being suspiciously friendly. But, she supposed she didn't feel as hostile towards him as she used to. They had to be amicable to keep the job easy.

_It is tentative friendliness. That's all. _

She entered potions and sat next to Harry, asking him about quidditch practice to distract herself from her internal excuses. That was, until Slughorn came in and snapped up his attention like the greedy old pig he usually was.

* * *

Draco entered the room and took his seat. Directly behind the Pothead Trio. That's what he thought they'd be called if they were a band. That or Scarface. Former for jazz, latter for metal.

He thought Granger had looked nice outside this morning. He usually only saw her up close in the dim light of the library. Outside she looked less like a mirage. More alive. Her cheeks were pink from the morning chill, and he realised quite how averagely short she was. Granted, her hair added an inch or two.

Not that he had a thing for short girls. Or pretty girls with sure and assertive voices. Not at all.

He watched her brown curls as she spoke to Potter. Honestly, the more he observed, she more he was convinced that her hair a physics of its own. It basically defied gravity.

He'd learnt about that from Newton over the holidays.

Unsurprisingly, Sluggy came and scooped Harry away. Probably inviting him to a secret orgy or something.

More surprisingly, Hermione turned to face him. She threw her arm over the back of her seat casually and opened up her torso in his direction. "I'm surprised you made it, ferret."

She seemed to completely ignore his request for her to leave him alone just this morning.

He felt himself smirk. "Yes, I'm seemingly surprising in many ways, aren't I?"

She hesitated, and he saw the cogs turning in her brain. "Well, yes."

"Don't get complacent, then, Granger. Then I won't continue surprising you." She rolled her eyes with a whisper of a smile as Ron dumped himself and his belongings down next to her. She met Malfoy's eyes once more before turning away for the rest of the lesson.

* * *

"So, are you trying out for quidditch." She asked quietly into the night, repairing a more recent copy of _Hogwarts, A History_.

"Yeah, I suppose so. I really just needed some exercise."

She hummed, picking up the mallet and giving the backing a few calculated hits. She levitated the book to the completed work pile and looked at the almost empty desk before her. A few books remained, but it was late, and she was beginning to feel herself dozing off. She rubbed her eyes and yawned, turning to inspect Malfoy's work. He was almost finished with one of the books they'd selectively left till last. An easy fix.

"Shall we leave after this one?" He asked, not looking at her.

"I'd like to." She yawned again, resting her chin on her hand.

His face was lit up subtly by the lantern between them, and the shadows danced around his features. He looked golden.

Then he looked at her, and she didn't look away. She told herself it was because she just didn't have the energy. His eyes danced with the flames, taking her in as she watched him.

"Okay," he said simply. His voice was deep, she noticed, and soothing this late at night. He looked back down to the desk and she watched as nimble fingers repaired a ripped dustjacket. He levitated the book, finishing off their pile, finally.

They collected their things in silence, as they always did, and walked back the way they came. Draco waited while Hermione locked the door and slipped the key into her bag. It was a habit they'd both grown used to.

She dragged weary legs, still holding her weighty bag. She was so tired that when she cast a weightlessness charm, it wore off after a couple of minutes. After seeing her do this twice on the first set of stairs alone, Draco smoothly pulled it off her shoulder, slinging it over his own.

"Hey!" She protested, stopping a stair or two above him to cross her arms. Their eyesight was perfectly level for once. "I'm perfectly capable of holding my own things."

His eyes searched hers, before looking away to the side tiredly. "Hurry up, Granger. Let's just get to bed."

She tried not to notice how endearing he sounded saying _that_. Huffing, she grumbled a bit before taking the lead.

Finally, after a whispered entry to the daily riddle, they reached the landing between their rooms.

"Here you go, Granger." He held out her bag and she took it. They remained where they stood.

"Thanks."

"Goodnight, Granger."

"Night Malfoy."

They maintained eye contact for a second before both turning on their heel a little too quickly to enter their rooms, not looking back.

On the other side of her door, Hermione began to feel worried. How she'd managed to forge a ghost of a friendship with Malfoy, she'd never know.

Draco tore off his robes, stripping down to his skin and running a hand through his hair.

Why the fuck was he beginning to look forward to 9pm every night?

* * *

Ron was waiting in line, Hogwarts-provided broom in his hand and a nervous feeling in his chest. Today he had to prove himself. He had to get on the Gryffindor team as a legacy to Fred. Harry and Ginny were beside him, looking determinedly into the sky. There were 40 odd hopefuls ready to try and snap up a spot in Gryffindor's ranks. Despite McGonagall advising against it, as it may become a distraction, students began to fill up the stands. Everyone was eager to see who would be representing their house in the first season. It had felt like forever since they last stood in the stands cheering on their housemates.

It wasn't like the players were thrown into this unprepared. They'd been holding training sessions every day this week, and Ron and Harry had attended each one.

This amount of observation was still nerve wracking though.

He shook it off and scanned the pitch. His eyes found Malfoy who was lined up amongst the blue-clad Ravenclaw crowd. They made eye contact, but he looked away uninterestedly before Ron could send him a mouthed insult.

Hermione sat in the stands alongside Neville and Luna, chatting excitedly about who they thought would perform the best. Harry, of course, was most likely to be the Gryffindor seeker. Her eyes swept around the pitch, and she focussed on her team; Ravenclaw. There were a few familiar faces, but the only person she really knew there was Malfoy. He looked calm as ever, lazily letting his eyes sweep over the crowd. He looked right at her and paused for a second before continuing his wide gaze.

And then people were in the air, and it was a flurry of motion.

Ginny sent a bludger hurtling toward Malfoy and he ducked it easily, eyes always scanning for the elusive golden snitch. Ron was yelling, as usual. Harry was darting around, in and out of sight, keeping an eye on the other players trying out for the seeker position. Ginny was positively unstoppable.

She didn't know exactly how they chose players, but after three hours of a deafening crowd, painful-looking collisions, screaming abuse, and a more than a couple of broken bones sent to Madam Pomfrey, four teams assembled before the crowd.

Unsurprisingly, Harry, Ron and Ginny stood there, beaming. Malfoy looked carefully careless, but a hint of a pleased smile played on his lips.

Harry and Malfoy were, yet again, head to head in the seeker position. Luna said she felt a particularly powerful case of déjà vu. She blamed some obscure creature Hermione quickly forgot the name of. Ginny and Ron were both beaters, taking on the Weasley twin's legacy.

And then the crowd was racing onto the grass, hugging and yelling and laughing.

Hermione saw all the players be enveloped by bodies. Harry was actually hoisted onto someone's shoulders.

Picking her way down, Hermione prepared to congratulate her friends, but they were nowhere to be seen in the mob. They'd been utterly subsumed under their new fans.

Luna and Neville had disappeared along with everyone else., so she decided to go back to her room and finish some work. She was sure there would be Firewhiskey and Butterbeer positively flowing in the common rooms later tonight. Perhaps she would pay a visit to Gryffindor.

"Marbles." She replied to the daily riddle, pushing through the door into the virtually empty common room. Perfect. She resolved to pick a nice spot and dig into her to do list for the day. She sang quietly as she walked up the stairs, thinking of the materials she'd need.

Light filtered abnormally into the landing, and Draco's door was open. She heard a faint grunt from her hidden position.

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Who would be in his room? He only just finished the trials. Someone must be trying to sabotage him. She walked forward to see into the doorway, ready to tell off whoever was in there that very obviously was _not _Malfoy. They struck at the right time. Everyone was still outside.

Safe to say she was very surprised to see the tall blonde with his back to her, peeling off his jersey to reveal a nasty bruise on his right shoulder blade. He let out a breath he must've been holding.

God, his skin was just _impeccable_. How he'd managed to keep in shape with such a self-proclaimed lack of exercise, was beyond her. He looked like a bruised angel. She couldn't bring herself to look away.

_Fuck fuck and FUCK. Why am I still here? I'm perving on him. This is immoral. I can't just stand and watch! He's bound to turn around. _

He rolled his shoulders back and winced, lolling his head from side to side slowly. She heard his neck chrack as blond hair fell around his face messily. She actually stopped breathing a little when caught sight of his closed eyes and parted lips. The look of calm on his face was just… mouth-watering. She'd never seen Malfoy look so relaxed.

_You can't just open your door now and pretend you haven't seen him. He'll know you're violently ignoring the fact that he doesn't have a shirt on._

The drying sweat on his body made his body basically _glisten_, and she let her eyes trail down. His pants were low on his hips and he'd taken his shoes off, leaving only a pair of blue Ravenclaw socks. They matched his bruise.

She hadn't seen him get hit on the field, but it was glaringly obvious that he had been. And quite badly by the looks of it.

"That's a nasty bruise you've got there, Malfoy," she said, not missing the uncharacteristic lowness of her voice.

He started, turning to look at her. She stood by his door stiffly.

"Bloody Weasley's bludger." He muttered gruffly, bringing up a long finger to prod at it.

She snorted. "Which one?"

He smirked. "The hot one. I should go thank her, really."

She rolled her eyes and steeled herself for her next move. "I can fix it. If you don't want to go to Pomfrey. I'm sure it's quite hectic down there. I saw Creevy take a nasty hit to the head. And someone from Slytherin broke their leg in four places. Also," she barely took a breath, "did you _see _that girl fall?"

He watched her. "Yes, I was there."

She shut her mouth audibly. She knew she was rambling. She was trying her hardest not to let her eyes wander down his neck. And chest. And arms.

He sat down with a sigh and waved her over to come behind his back. "Come fix me, Granger."

She nodded, stepping over the threshold of his door and taking in his room. It was completely unpersonal.

Was that a desk and chair stolen from a classroom? His stationery was neatly arranged on it, anyhow.

She didn't bother asking how he got it as she walked towards his turned back.

"Do you think anything might be broken? This looks quite… severe." She questioned, refraining from touching him while she looked at it.

"No."

She nodded, and her hair brushed his back.

There was no way she'd miss the goose bumps that materialised across his skin.

She set to work un-bruising his flesh.

They were deathly silent while she did it, and though it didn't take long, it felt like hours.

"Done." She murmured, standing up and smoothing out her skirt before walking to his doorway. She turned to face him again, feeling the need to say something after the suffocating awkwardness of having healed him so delicately. "Erm. Nicely done in the trials, Malfoy."

He stood up in front of her and stretched out his shoulder. She found herself mesmerised at how the lithe muscles moved under his skin.

"Thanks, Granger." His lips twitched in amusement. "You like to stare a lot, you know that?"

She felt redness creep up her neck. Did he know she'd been there the whole time? She decided not to give him an incriminating response.

"See you later, Malfoy."

She turned towards her door and let herself in, deciding not to leave it until she decided to see her friends. There was no way she could concentrate on her work in the common room now.


	6. Chapter 6

It was 10pm when Hermione decided to crawl out from her quarters to the Gryffindor common room. She knew she had to see Harry and Ron tonight. Everyone had found out the password for today, so she shrugged on a cloak and slipped out of her room silently. She couldn't help but notice that Malfoy's door was shut.

Gryffindor were holding the party for the rebirth of quidditch at Hogwarts. For the past couple days, students had been roaming the halls plastering around enchanted flyers. They were charmed to be invisible to the teachers.

Padding through the halls, she retraced the familiar route to the Gryffindor tower. She'd treaded this route a thousand times before, and the fat lady met her with warm smiles after she offered the password. Crawling through the portrait hole into the round room was like getting hit in the face with a blast of warmth, noise, and familiarity. Many were talking animatedly, and alcohol was on everyone's lips.

Hermione found some Firewhiskey within about three seconds and took two shots successively. She had spent the afternoon in a rotation of thinking about Malfoy, scolding herself, distracting herself, then repeating.

She had to get drunk to fix this obvious madness. Merlin's _pants _this could end up badly. They had been successfully ignoring the elephant in the room by acting all chummy, but she knew it was a façade. They could never _really _be friends after what happened. After how he'd treated her all those years, how could they? Sure, he'd apologised. But it didn't feel like _enough. _

The fact that Draco Malfoy apologised at all should be a miracle in itself, she supposed. What did she want him to do? Fall on his knees before her and beg for forgiveness?

She was quite sure that really wasn't Malfoy's style, but she still couldn't shake the lingering scepticism. Perhaps the point was that she still didn't really trust him.

She didn't know how getting drunk could fix it. Perhaps she just needed to _forget_ about it all for a while. Malfoy had begun to pop up _everywhere_. They lived across from each other, they worked together at night, they kept _running into each other _in the most contingent ways.

_But alcohol never really fixes anything, does it? All I'll get out of this is a hangover._

She ignored her own better judgement and took another shot without hesitation. The cinnamon fire burnt her throat satisfyingly, and she let her eyes scan the crowd, suddenly coming to the realisation that this is in fact, a Quiddich party, and Malfoy is in fact, the freshly appointed Ravenclaw seeker. She didn't see his blond head lurking anywhere, so she found Harry and Ron chatting animatedly to Neville, Ginny and Luna.

"Hello, Hermione!" Luna called in her tinkling voice. They all turned to look at her and beckoned her over, excited that she'd made an appearance. How could she miss it?

"Congratulations guys! You all did great today!" Hermione beamed at them, pulling the three new team members into a hug. "We were rooting for you!" she said, gesturing to Neville and Luna.

"It was all so exciting!" Luna said breezily, "even the nargles were interested in all the commotion."

Some of Harry's butterbeer sloshed onto the ground. He didn't notice and took a long swig.

"Let all the nargles of the land know, the new quidditch season has begun!" He slurred with dramatic flair, one of his eyelids drooping closed a little. He leant against Ron and they laughed together.

They'd obviously been doing this since they got hoisted back up here.

There was no way she could catch up.

She was quite literally too late to the party.

So, she continued to drink purely for her own enjoyment. Excuse: changed. Outcome: the same. She decided she'd talk to Ginny for most of the night before leaving after staying an acceptable amount of time.

Ginny dragged her to a corner, and they sat. She leant her elbows on her knees and rested her head in her hands, looking at Hermione expectantly.

"So, tell me how you're managing not to absolutely ravish Draco Malfoy alone in the library every night."

Hermione's eyes widened and flittered around. He could be anywhere. She sputtered at her friend. "What do you mean?"

Ginny leant back with a drunkenly mischievous smirk. "Don't you have _eyes? _Just look at him."

Hermione sighed, deciding to be truthful. "I do."

Ginny wiggled her eyebrows. "And? Do you like what you see? He's about a million times hotter than my git of a brother."

Hermione laughed, then divulged the truth. "I just can't really see past the history enough to actually feel like his friend…"

"Bah!" Ginny waved away her hand at Hermione's confession. "In case you hadn't noticed, everyone else who was involved isn't being crucified. Look at Blaise." She pointed across the room, where Blaise was joking around with Luna. "I suspect something is going on there, but that's another conversation."

Hermione was surprised at just how much the grade had intertwined. People who hardly spoke before seemed friendly now.

"_I've_ even spoken to Draco. He's not that bad of a bloke. Really great on a broom." She winked.

"_Fine," _she sighed in defeat, "yes he's gorgeous and generally nice and somewhat funny. Is that what you want from me?"

Ginny didn't let her get away that easily. "So, you _do _fancy him?"

"I… No! He's barely a friend." Ginny offered her a bottle to swig from. She took it thankfully.

"So why are you trying to drink away something?" Ginny's eyes sparkled knowingly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm _not." _

Before Ginny could read her more accurately, Harry turned up and sloppily kissed her.

Hermione decided it was time to leave. The noise was starting to bug her anyway. God, she really _had_ begun to prefer Ravenclaw. Gryffindor was always like this. Rowdy. Loud. Brave. Gallant.

She didn't let herself dwell on it as she finally walked off, sneaking back through the portrait hole. She stumbled a little as she got out.

Sure, she wasn't _shitfaced _like everyone else, but she'd had more than a few shots, and she didn't drink all too often.

Standing outside the portrait hole in the silent halls, she immediately sunk into the quiet. What isn't said in silence is perhaps worth more than what is said for the sake of noise.

She found herself becoming partial to the former.

She checked her watch. 11:30. She was far from tired. She already had _quite _a buzz from the alcohol, and she wasn't just about to go to bed. Hermione very carefully enjoyed her alone time. Her favourite person to hang out with was herself, and while she had this uniquely warm Firewhiskey feeling, she'd spend it doing something she enjoyed till she fell asleep.

She decided to read a book by the Ravenclaw fire. She'd also have a hot chocolate for good measure.

When she stumbled ungraciously through the Ravenclaw entryway, she was pleased to find nobody around. She snuck up to her room and picked up a book she'd been meaning to read. _Classic Erotic Tales. _

It had Voltaire and Casanova and some other iconic literature. She thought in her current state she could really immerse herself in the tales.

She made her hot chocolate slowly and shuffled over to the loveseat in front of the fire. She dug in, smelling the soft muskiness of the old pages. The front cover boasted the bust of Guillaume Seignac's _The Water Nymph, _and she admired it under the firelight. She sipped her warm beverage and read for an hour, her eyes beginning to feel heavy at the 60th page. She transfigured a wayward chocolate frog wrapper into a bookmark and set the book aside, draining the rest of her mug.

She began to rub her eyes but dozed off in the process.

The sound of someone falling through the door woke her suddenly. She peeked over the back of her chair to find Malfoy steadying himself on a wall. He straightened up and set down the bottle of Firewhiskey in his hand.

She raised her eyebrows and the room spun a little. "Malfoy?"

His eyes found hers lazily. "Granger." He picked up the bottle and walked towards her casually, settling himself in beside her and using his hands to shove away her curled-up knees.

It wasn't a very large seat.

She grunted, unappreciative of the intrusion. Malfoy didn't seem to notice he was already beginning to irritate her. She hoped he wasn't an annoying drunk. That would certainly quash any attraction she had.

She huffed and he looked at her. "You weren't at the party."

"I very much _was _at the party." She replied, eyes straying to the liquor in his hand. "I was talking to Harry and Ron all night. Where were _you_?"

Before he could reply she snatched it from him and took a swig. She needed some liquid courage if she was going to be this much closer to him than usual.

She lodged it in between their legs so it stayed, and tried her hardest to ignore the warmth of his proximity.

He shrugged, obviously more unaffected than her. "_Not _talking to Pothead and Weasel, I suppose." He pulled the bottle from between them and drank.

"Did you have fun?"

His eyes found hers and held on. "Not really," he paused a second, "if you were at the party, then why are you sitting here…" He looked around, trying to find out exactly _what_ she was doing when his eyes found the book laying on her lap. "reading?" He rolled his eyes. "Why am I not surprised?"

Nimble fingers snatched it up before she could whisk it away.

He frowned at the letters, taking a tad too long to read the words in front of him. Then, his eyebrows raised comically.

_"Classic Erotic Tales." _Hearing him say erotic made her go a bit red. Lucky for her it was dark.

He dragged his eyes back to hers. "Granger reading erotica late at night in the Ravenclaw common room. Why is that exactly what I would not, but also would _completely _expect from you?"

She shrugged, not really worried at the direction of the conversation. She wasn't a child anymore. Her and Ron had been intimate a handful of times, and she was never one to sexually starve herself. She maintained that someone would have trouble being so intellectually focussed without being attentive to their sexual desires. Sadly, for her, her most impressive partner had been her hands.

"You wouldn't have a clue what to expect from me, Malfoy." She said with a playful grin, rolling her eyes.

"I suspect not." He dropped the book in her lap and looked back to her with a raised eyebrow. "Perhaps, putting it lightly, I _would_ suspect you'd be in need of a lay, Granger." His voice had a gravely undertone. She chalked it up to the alcohol.

She took another swig and handed the bottle to him. He didn't seem like he would be going away. "Well, since Ron and Lavender got back together any prospect of _that_ withered away."

"Weasley and Brown are fornicating again?" He questioned. She watched his fingers spin open the cap.

She sighed and looked away, hearing the amber liquid slosh around the half-full bottle. "Yes."

"What a shame. For you, of course." He sounded faintly sarcastic. She ignored it.

"I'm not too bothered." She scanned his face in the firelight. "Are _you_? In need of a lay, I mean."

"Well it's not like I've had much of a chance, having my house taken over by a manic, then living with my estranged aunt." He handed the bottle back, and she brushed his fingers in the process of taking it. "Not exactly the most arousing selection of atmospheres."

She looked around them. They always seemed to be together in the dark. They always spent time together at night. The fire crackled warmly, and she pushed her sock-clad feel closer. "Makes sense."

"I'm sure being on the run with potter and Weasley was deliciously naughty." He sent her a joking smirk, his tone lightening. "Did the trio's friendship climax wih Granger on the spit?"

"Draco!" She winced, smacking his arm with a frustrated groan and disgusted expression. "Foul!"

He let out a laugh at her reaction and accompanying expression. "Anyone can see that you and Potter are about as sexually attracted to each other as an otter is to a frog. And Weasley is fantastically unsuited to your allure."

She paused, tossing up her next move. "And what exactly is my allure?"

Their eyes met again, and he smirked. "I refuse to provide you with an ego trip, Granger. Your head is already big enough as it is." He said, saving himself from pathetically telling her all the things he admired about her in some awkward confession of his growing interest.

He rested his head on the chair back and closed his eyes. He had to stop the room from spinning. All he could see was a kaleidoscope of brown. Brown hair, brown eyes, brown chair.

She raked those brown eyes over his skin. The collar of his buttoned shirt was perfectly pressed. The fabric around his torso had softened and clung to his torso. She followed his silhouette up the curve of his neck until she was staring at the exposed skin below his ear. She suspected if she pressed _right _there, _just _hard enough, she could feel his pulse against her lips.

She overwhelmingly wanted to find out.

But he opened his eyes and dragged them down to her from the ceiling.

"How intoxicated are you, Granger?"

"Quite."

"Me too." He sighed and rubbed his eyes before sending her a last shadowy glance, letting himself take her in once more. "Night, Hermione."

He got up smoothly and left. She watched him as he walked away.

Now she was alone with the bottle and thoughts of warm-bodied, accelerating pulse points. She glanced back at her book.

* * *

Waking up the next morning, Draco rolled over and groaned. His head pounded. He thrust out a palm to find his wand and conjured up a glass of water. Morning light filtered through his window, and he vaguely remembered stumbling into his room at the end of the night. Then he promptly remembered how he imagined driving himself into Granger on that loveseat they'd shared. He was sure she'd gasp _Draco_ into his ear. He came harder than he'd done in a while.

He rubbed his face violently.

Why had he so badly wanted to lean over to her? His fingers itched to run themselves through that gravity-defying hair.

* * *

Hermione hadn't stayed on the seat for much longer. She cleaned her mug and fled to her bed. She couldn't help but think about Malfoy again. The way he looked when he was relaxed... she was sure she could relax him even further. Her fingers trailed down her stomach and under the uniform skirt. The fabric was bulky, and she'd torn it off quickly.

The next morning, she woke up with memories of imaginary grey eyes looking up at her.

She flew out of bed and thrust open the window to gulp in the freezing air, trying to clear her addled head.

She'd fantasised about riding Malfoy. In her head she saw herself moaning out his name. Her eyes found the erotic literature book and narrowed at it menacingly.

_This is all your fault. If I hadn't been reading you, I'd have been in a clearer state of mind. _

Oh, who was she kidding?

It's not like it was the first time she'd thought of him in her bed.

She glanced worriedly at her door that stood across from Malfoy's.


	7. Chapter 7

The clock tolled 8 times as Hermione walked out enormous wooden doors onto the grounds. She kept her hands in her pockets to avoid the chill.

_Meet me after practise at 8, _said the note Ginny flew to Hermione earlier in the great hall. Seeing the Gryffindor players fly down was the cue she needed to wait outside the entrance to the pitch. Within a couple minutes Ginny rushed out, grabbing Hermione's hand and pulling her along with it.

"Hurry." She hissed, yanking her back up the path and into the mildly warmer castle. "Walk with me." And Hermione did as Ginny took them through a weaving labyrinth of obscure pathways before pulling her into a room hidden behind an alcove.

Hermione looked around the storage room that didn't have a door half a second ago. There were desks stacked around the corners and a large empty space in the middle, punctured only by two rickety chairs and a small table in the middle. They sat and dust swirled up around them, floating in wide swathes of lazy morning sunlight.

Hermione looked around them. "How did you know about this place?"

Ginny shrugged, "I spent a lot of time with Fred and George. There are hundreds of places hidden around like this." Her tone became serious, which forced Hermione to make eye contact. "Now look, Hermione. I have to tell someone this or I'll explode."

Hermione became concerned. "What is it?"

"I can't be with Harry anymore." She visibly deflated after her declaration, letting out what looked like a lot of pent up energy. It dissipated throughout the room and silence crept up between them. Hermione pierced it.

"What? Why?"

Ginny looked up to the roof. "I just… can't do the whole relationship thing anymore. I want to be alone. I come from the bloody Weasley family. I never get a second of space as it is. Now, I'm always around Harry and bloody Ron, the git, and I just can't stand it!"

Hermione nodded, understanding immediately. "Well, how do you think he'll react?"

"He seems to think we'll be together forever, and I'll pop out a couple kids just like my mum did, and we'll make our own little burrow. I'm not here to fulfil his broken family fantasies! I don't _want _kids or to be a homebody, or even to stay in England." She shook her head slowly, eyes wide. "Hermione, I haven't told anyone, but I've been sent an expression of early interest for the Chudley Canons. I'm going to take my shot at being a professional player. There's no way I'm settling down here after bloody Hogwarts at 18! I want to be young and just _live. _I don't want, nor need, to be tied to _Harry Potter_ _the hero _to do that. I need to make my own way."

"Ginny I'll support any choice you make; you know that." Hermione offered her hand on Ginny's shoulder. "I agree you should make your own way, Gin. You can do great things. You're strong and young and the smartest witch I've met."

"Right then, it's decided," she said, straightening up with a determined look. She smacked her palm down on wood, nodding along with her own inner monologue. More dust stirred into the light. "I'll do it tonight."

Hermione was silent for a time while Ginny gathered her thoughts. "Are you alright?"

She hesitated. "Honestly, I'm great. I've been thinking about this for a while now. I just feel like it's time to end it." Hermione nodded as the girl across from her cracked her knuckles loudly. Then, "did you hear about the Hogsmeade visit this week?"

Hermione was jarred at the swift change of subject. "Yeah but I didn't plan on going… when is it again?"

"Thursday. Tomorrow. You should go with Malfoy." Ginny sent her a mischievous look.

Hermione rolled her eyes exasperatedly. "Ginny, why do you keep bringing this up?"

"Because you two fucking around would be _hot." _She whistled lowly, "_and, _if you won't take him, I will. I plan on playing the field. In Malfoy's case I would take him _on_ the field," she winked, "and anywhere else in the vicinity."

"Go ahead." Hermione said with a careful nonchalance. "I don't know why you'd think I want him."

Ginny snorted. "Well I can't very well have him_ now_. It's obvious you have the hots. You're the ones sharing secret bottles of Firewhiskey in front of the fire together. Anyway, I doubt even I could sway his gaze."

"How do you know about that?" She sputtered, recovering quickly for the sake of her dignity. "It wasn't a _secret, _anyhow," she crossed her arms and looked away defiantly.

Ginny leaned back with a smirk. Dust puffed out around her from the chair cushion. "Let's just say the house elves and I have some _understandings_. I know a lot about what happens around here. And I know, that you and him," she pointed at Hermione accusingly, "have your little _routines_ and _pleasantries_ that you offer each other. You don't _do _that unless you're into someone. It's simple."

Hermione shook her head incredulously, unable to formulate a response. "I don't believe you. How are you not in Slytherin?"

"Do you seriously think I'd let that snarky old hat put me in the dungeons? Not a chance. The DA taught me all I needed to know."

Hermione snorted and looked away again, staring at the precariously stacked chairs. "Don't be ridiculous."

Ginny stood up and grabbed the broom she'd abandoned on the floor. "I'm not. So, will I see you in Hogsmeade tomorrow with Malfoy or not?"

When Hermione didn't move, Ginny waved her up impatiently, walking back out the re-appearing door.

"Not a chance! I'll come with you, though." Hermione offered, pushing some hair out of her face.

"Fine. I'll be your cover." She said dramatically. "We can be on the lookout and find the best time for you to pounce."

"Matchmake someone else, Gin. You may think whatever you want but _nobody_ will be pouncing on anything. Let's just have a butterbeer at the Hog's Head or something. It's always quieter there."

"Fine. I'll have to plan my attack on the fly, it seems." She winked at Hermione before heading off to prepare for class.

* * *

"Are you going to Hogsmeade?" He'd asked her that night. Simple and to the point.

They hadn't spoken much since the night of the party. It had been the weekend, and afterwards Hermione was afraid that she'd say or do something embarrassing, so she kept all conversation short. She didn't want him thinking she was a creeper after he commented on her staring.

"Well I wasn't going to, but Ginny convinced me." She glanced at him "Are you?"

He nodded. "Yeah I have to buy a broom. The Hogwarts ones are ancient, and the handling is," he signed in frustration, "fucking horrible."

She laughed, not looking up from her work. "You still manage to make it look easy."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that so, Granger?" His fingers tapped lightly on the wood.

She cleared her throat. "Yep." She would not look at him. She saw him watching in her peripheral, a smirk growing on his face.

"Why?"

She shrugged lightly. "You just look like you know your way around a broom."

He turned his body towards her fully, amusement playing around his features. "Can _you_ fly a broom, Granger? I've never caught sight of you in the air," he brushed his gaze down her torso and to her thighs, "you always seem to… have planted yourself somewhere around here." He took in the dark library around them.

She laughed softly and finally looked at him. "I wish. I am afraid of falling." Their knees were touching but neither moved away.

He smirked and leaned forward, teasing lowly. "Then how in Merlin's name could you tell if I know my way around a broom?"

She held his eye contact, trying to contain the blush threatening her cheeks. "Well, I've read quite a few books on the matter." Her voice was quiet. It was swallowed up by the suffocating silence.

Though, Malfoy was close enough to hear it.

And the problem was that she wished he'd come closer.

His eyes were grey, and his hair was white, and he looked like one of those_ damned_ Greek statues, and she couldn't possibly _not _smell the cinnamon that radiated from his neck.

"You know," he began, hesitating, "…falling isn't that terrifying if you resign yourself to the fact that it's inevitable."

She inhaled shakily and looked down to his lips. His smirk had fallen away, but his eyes were still fixed on hers.

And then he leant away and left a swirl of spice in his place. She felt dizzy. "Anyway, I don't doubt you've read all about it, Granger. I'm thinking one of the recent Firebolt models will do me nicely."

"I've heard they're good." She struggled out, trying desperately to regain her focus while Malfoy picked up his pace seamlessly.

* * *

"Ginny, I don't know what happened last night, but he came dangerously close to me and then everything smelled like cinnamon and I think I_ almost_ considered kissing him," Hermione rushed out breathlessly the second Ginny met her outside Hogwarts the next afternoon. Evidence of her words floated towards the overcast sky. Another bitterly cold day.

Her eyes widened at the deluge of information. "What?"

"In the library," Hermione added, as if it was a useful point.

"Has this happened before? I thought you _so_ vehemently denied having feelings for him?" She questioned with a look that said I-told-you-so.

"I don't have _feelings." _She whisper-shouted, looking around frantically to see who was in earshot. "I guess I'm just attracted to him. Purely physically, you know?"

If Ginny rolled her eyes again, she'd sprain something. "Hermione stop digging yourself so deeply in denial."

"I'm not."

"Then just admit that you find Draco Malfoy gorgeous and get on with your life!" She said exasperatedly as they neared the gates that surrounded the campus. "It's not like it'll kill you."

"Did you break it off with Harry last night?" Hermione whispered, desperate for a new course of conversation in such an exposed environment.

"Yes. It was difficult." She didn't say anything more, a steely expression fixed on her face. Hermione decided not to push it.

"Want to talk about it in the Hog's Head? Nobody will be there. That place is a fucking ghost town." Then she narrowed her eyes. "Unless your house elves are lurking about everywhere like they apparently do."

Ginny laughed. "Fine. Fuck it. Let's slosh ourselves in the afternoon. Maybe Malfoy will turn up and offer you the good fuck you deserve."

"Ginny, _shut up." _

They'd reached Hog's Head, and Hermione pushed open the old door. Snow flurried about at the disturbance and the door creaked loudly into the dank old room. No heads turned. There were only a few people in old black cloaks huddled in there.

Ginny went to grab a seat while Hermione went to the bar and ordered two butterbeers and four shots of firewhiskey. The bar top was sicky with decades worth of residue. The whole place smelled a bit like the musk of body odour mixed with cigarette smoke. When the drinks were served by the leathery bartender, she levitated them over and Ginny's eyebrows raised. "Merlin, Hermione."

She plonked down and shrugged. "You're digesting a break-up, and I'm digesting an attraction to my childhood bully. Both are traumatic. Bottoms up."

Ginny downed the whole glass of fiery amber liquid and was met with a gaping expression.

"You realise you've now forced me to keep up with you? This _is _therapy. Ethanol therapy, precisely." Hermione downed her glass with a disgusted expression, and Ginny filled them back up.

"I want Zabini." Ginny said without hesitation, taking another drink, "and Hermione you _have _to fuck Malfoy. Come on! You _know _it would be good. Relieve some stress, perhaps?" She wiggled her eyebrows.

"Ginny I'm scared to get close to someone from my past. We were never exactly _friendly. _Wouldn't it just be easier to find someone new? Someone not involved in the war?"

"But you are friendly now! And you told me what McGonagall said, he's learnt from his mistakes!" Hermione still looked sceptical, and Ginny sighed, trying her last hand. "Look, Hermione. If you can find solace in _anyone_, then give it a shot! We're all fucked up from the war, if someone _understands_ and _helps _then what more can you want? It's not like he's lacking in the looks department."

"Are you trying to tell me to find some miraculous _solace _in _Malfoy? _Have you been reading those trashy muggle erotica paperbacks? I wouldn't pin you as a hopeless romantic." Hermione downed her second shot, chasing it down with a swig from the bubbling honey-coloured pint in front of her.

"Just don't shy away from the possibility, okay?" Then, she looked over Hermione's shoulder and sent her a wicked grin. "I hope your attraction is digesting quickly because speak of the _devil." _

Hermione froze. Refused to look.

"Oh, and he's here with Zabini, too!" She sounded positively delighted. "Merlin, that man is just _delicious._"

"Look. Away." Hermione hissed, keeping her head down.

"Well, well, well, who have we here?" Blaise's voice descended upon them. He stood at their table with a grin, dark eyes fixed on Ginny.

"Zabini and Malfoy" Ginny drawled. "Why am I not surprised to find you two slinking around this old dive?"

Malfoy leaned against Hermione's chair while Blaise and Ginny continued to shamelessly flirt in front of them. She looked up to see his face. His eyes swept the table.

"Two shots down, Granger. What's the occasion?"

She smiled, admiring his height. "You wouldn't want to know."

He raised an eyebrow, beckoning her to continue.

"Something to do with digestion." She waved her hand nonchalantly.


	8. Chapter 8

Potions class was in riot. They had been tasked with making something of their own choosing. Anything at all. Thirty students, thirty different potions. It was _not _a recipe for success. Slughorn regretted this decision after about ten minutes. Class was well and truly underway at this point, and most of the class had already failed.

Harry's hair looked like Hermione's usually did. A vertical mess.

Ron had given up and was slumped in his chair defeatedly.

Hermione was stirring her Felix Felicis rabidly.

Draco was already done.

"Granger, if you stir that any faster, I think you may just blow up." Malfoy sniggered, an arm resting lazily on his chair back as he watched her in amusement.

She grunted.

"Ah, eloquent as always." He goaded with a smirk planted firmly on his face.

She didn't respond, instead checking her textbook and rifling through the pages.

"Use your words, Granger, Godric knows you've got a thesaurus in that brain of yours. Quite a large one too, I expect."

Her page tore loudly. She swore louder.

"Miss Granger. Language in the classroom. Ten points from Ravenclaw." Slughorn announced. She got sent a few dirty looks.

She muttered an apology, but Draco heard her cussing him out under her breath.

"What was that, Granger?" He leaned forward; his amusement positively palpable. "My, my my, _Granger_."

Her head rung _Granger, Granger, Granger, bloody Granger. _

"Will you _shut up!" _She spun in her chair and came face to face with the blond. "Will you just shut _the fuck up, Malfoy?"_

He laughed when he squinted over her shoulder. "Good job, _Granger. _Your potion has spoiled."

She glanced at the bubbly purple sludge that _was _iridescent gold a few seconds ago.

She turned her head back to his, slowly. "You fucking _ferret_. This is all your fault. If you had just stopped being a nagging _distraction, _I'd be finished the first phase."

"Don't forget that ten-point loss. Thanks a lot, Granger, now I'll have to pick up some rubbish or do some other menial task to earn it back." He quirked an eyebrow.

"Will you quit calling me Granger?" She narrowed her eyes, "it's so boring and _clinical._ Surely you can come up with something else._"_

He paused. Leaned over his desk to her further. Murmured lowly. "You'd prefer we were more _personal, Hermione?" _

She hesitated, having underestimated the allure of her name spilling from his lips. "Perhaps."

He leaned back and crossed his arms, eyeing her suspiciously. He opened his mouth to speak but Slughorn beat him to it.

"Draco! You've completed the Draught of Peace perfectly! And in such good time! Fifty points to Ravenclaw."

Draco sent Hermione a shit-eating grin, and she sent him back a foul look before twisting away. He watched as she removed the cauldron of its disgusting, failed contents.

* * *

She knocked on his door at 8:50 that evening. He didn't open up straight away, but when he did, he wore low-slung pants and very little else. He held an open book in one large land.

She swallowed. "Why aren't you ready, Malfoy?"

He stared down at her. "Draco," he merely responded.

"Huh?"

He rolled his eyes. "Did we not agree on this earlier, Hermione?" He stepped forward so they were less than a foot away. "Being more… personal?"

Her pulse thudded in her ears. She had to crane her neck to see his face, otherwise she was eye to eye with his collarbone.

"Right. Well, _Draco, _why aren't you ready?"

"I can be in two seconds," and he turned away, giving her a view of his back.

She was left in the open doorframe while he shrugged on an expensive-looking emerald green knit.

He glanced over to her. "Are you going to stand there and watch or are you going to come in? I have to get a couple of things."

She exhaled and sat on the edge of his bed, having a closer look at his belongings. "Your desk is impeccable." She commented while he rifled around.

"The desk itself or the stationery?"

"Both."

"Well I think the desk looks shabby, but I _did _steal it from an old storage room, so what more can I expect, really?" He shut the drawer loudly.

She tutted jokingly. "Twenty points from Ravenclaw, Draco. For being a thief in the night."

"My apologies, Miss Granger." He responded lowly, turning over his shoulder to send her a smirk.

She felt herself grow hot. His room smelled like fresh clothes and light musk. There were many more books than last time she saw in. The smell of pages had begun to seep into his room. And probably his clothes. Perhaps into his skin and hair. She discreetly took another breath.

"What are you reading?"

He pushed on his heavy boots and picked up the discarded book, sitting down next to her.

Very closely.

He handed it to her to look over while he did up the laces.

"_Potions of the Thirteenth Century_." She read out, flipping to the contents page. "Hmm, interesting. You know I think I've read this but for the fifteenth century. It was brilliant, did you know that they used to use powdered oak instead of thyme?"

He took the book back and threw it back onto his pillow, a grin playing around lips. "No, I did not."

They looked at each other for a second too long before Hermione shot up. "Shall we go, then? Now that you're done pottering around?"

"Sure."

The library was particularly light that night. The full moon shone through the windows and illuminated the shelves with an eerie glow. They'd already worked for hours, so, Hermione got up to stretch her legs. She heard Malfoy yawn and push back his chair. Some bones cracked and she peered out to see him stretching his back.

She retreated behind the shelves again, a large tome in her hand about mermaids in the great lake.

It wasn't long before she felt him join her.

"What are you reading?"

"Great lake mermaids," she murmured distractedly, not moving her eyes from the page.

She saw him nod before silently trailing his fingers down the spines of the shelves.

She found the empty shelf space and put the book back, having finished the paragraph. Quietly, she asked, "are you tired? You seem ready to leave." He glanced back at her.

"No." He pulled out a glaringly red book, flipping through it with ease. "Are you?"

She approached him in the moonlight. "No."

He shut the book with a loud smack, training his eyes into hers. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Go on."

He toyed with his ring. "Tell me, Hermione. On a scale of one to ten, how badly do you want to get in my pants?"

She blanched. 12.

"Excuse me, Malfoy?"

He tutted, resting a hand lightly in her shoulder and peering down into her eyes. "Draco."

"Excuse me, _Draco?" _She breathed, caught under his gaze.

"You heard me." He trailed his fingers down her arm, and her eyes fluttered closed.

Merlin, could she be any more _obvious. _

"It's quite obvious." Draco commented haughtily. She opened her eyes to see his, dark and penetrating. He looked sublime in the silvery light.

Blonde hair took on a metallic hue under the moon. She realised his touch was distractingly absent.

She took a hold of his wrist.

"Well, _Draco_," she drew out his syllables as a finger slipped under his sweater, "I'd say a conversation is quite rhizomatic, a creeping stem, roots here and there," she brushed a few delicate circles onto his wrist, "spurting with a million different possibilities." Her finger slipped out along the skin of his palm. Her eyes stayed trained on his.

He hummed as she fingered his cuff, following her every word. He was enchanted by her. The slipping of her voice into the silence. If he wasn't listening intently, he thought they might just sink away.

"The real question is," she continued, "which root system are you willing to follow? What set of words do you want us to string together to lead to an event?" She was whispering now. The sounds of the library around them were blaring. A creak here, some agile scuttling in a far corner. Wind whispering through the windows.

Long fingers tightened around a small wrist. "What constitutes an event?"

She leaned forward to purr, "something that ruptures history."

He let go, retreating from her and flashing a smirk laden in honey. "I could think of a few things we could do _right now _that would certainly do _just_ that." She recalled him biting his cheek thoughtfully. "Could you?"

She stepped forward; her head cocked. A small smile. A breathing voice. "Kindly tell me them, would you, Draco?"

He tapped his fingers on the shelf near his _right_ thigh. She remembered that specific detail.

"I don't think stories such as that can be _told_." His eyes dragged down her neck and lingered on the curve of her shoulder.

She stepped into a ray of moonlight, and he could see every freckle on her face. Perhaps he could count them. If he was able to steal the time.

He straightened off the shelf and cracked a knuckle. An anxious habit.

"Why's that, Draco?"

"Because stories such as that, need to be felt."

Her hand slid up his front and around the back of his neck. Short, blunt nails brushed through fine hairs on his neck and he inhaled shakily.

They made breathless eye contact one last time before they shaped an event.

And then the butterflies in her stomach burst out of their already-made cocoons.

He thought the way her tongue flicked under his top lip was _quite _eventful, to say the least. It burned down his leg and into his toes.

If you look closely at all the little elements, it becomes a work of human art. A routine unchoreographed but complete all the same.

A brush of the nose here, a strong hand on the waist there. A sweet sound in the darkness. The burning _nothing _in their heads that felt like _everything. _

She could smell the ancient wood mixed with the spice from his neck. His hair was silk-spun gardenias.

She thought that was positively _delightful. _

And reality burst back into the frame and she was pushed up against the self, moaning into his mouth while he dragged his fingers up under her shirt. Their laboured breaths filled the room, and he pulled back to press her jaw to the side before he sent a trail of warm kisses up her neck and back to her lips, stealing her away for himself once more.

She was expecting something, but not _this. _

His hand snuck down to her wrist and led it back up the shelf, just above her _left _ear, he recalled. Their hands were firmly pressed up against a copy of _Devils Snare and Where to Find It, How to Grow it, and How to Care for it. _

Neither of them noticed that, though.

He pulled at her waist and she melted into him, gasping as she felt those perfect teeth drag along her bottom lip.

She remembered that Draco Malfoy was the one doing these _terrible_ things to her, and she yanked away her hand.

To pull at his sweater, and then he let out this delicious little moan that sent her wild.


	9. Chapter 9 (Afterwards - An Interlude)

In the great hall the next morning, Hermione was staring down at her plate of potatoes.

_He'd pulled away, lips swollen dark pink. He let his hands linger while they caught their breath. _

"Hermione!" Ron called, waving a hand in front of her face. She spun her head to him.

"Huh?"

"I've been talking to you for ages now, have you been listening?"

_His index finger drew dizzying circles into her hip, and she let her head fall back. He kissed her neck once, softly. "Lovely," He rasped as he ran his teeth down her throat. _

She rubbed her neck. "Uhhh, what was it about?"

It took all her strength not to let her eyes stray to the Ravenclaw table where she _knew _Malfoy was sitting.

"The upcoming game! It's Gryffindor against Ravenclaw. Harry's been practising all week so he can beat Malfoy."

Ron glared over the bacon and Hermione let herself a glance. Draco's hair had fallen over his eyes and he was reading a book while eating a peach.

Him and those bloody peaches.

_He tasted like them. _

He looked up and found her instantly, sending a completely _indecent _smirk.

She bit her tongue to stop from smiling like an idiot.

"I don't know, Ron. Ravenclaw might pummel you." She teased, tearing her eyes away from the swirling grey across the room.

He snorted and, with his fingers, shoved a potato from her plate into his mouth. "_Never."_

The day went by at a crawl, and she had to force herself to listen in arithmancy, one of her favourite subjects. She wondered in what world she'd allowed herself to become so distracted. And with Malfoy, at that.

The bell tolled and she was finally able to lug herself to her room and fall back onto the bed, breathing out a sigh of relief.

She decided to take some work down to the common room. Surely that would motivate her. She had inches and inches of parchment to write, and she wasn't going to get it done thinking about bursting through the door across from hers.

She settled in at a desk by the telescope and pulled a pile of books from her bag.

The sun moved across the sky, and her face, as it went. She was grateful to feel a bit of sun through the bitter cold.

Before she knew it, it was dark, and she was putting the finishing flourishes onto the paper.

The room had ebbed and flowed. Right now, it was busy with students doing research and homework. She found that life in Ravenclaw was lonely. Most people worked in solitude. In Gryffindor there were always people to chat to and collaborate with, but she was happy. After the ferocity of the war, she needed time in her own head.

And her own head wouldn't bloody shut up.

She kept thinking of last night, alone with a stunning man between the shelves.

A pair of large yellow eyes stared back at her. Crookshanks had leapt onto her desk, a piece of paper uncharacteristically strapped to one of his legs. She frowned and took it off, petting him and sending the little lion into a purring heap. He crawled onto her lap.

_Meet me on the pitch after I pummel Weasley. Potter, too. Show me some of that Ravenclaw solidarity, Granger. _

The note didn't have a signature. It didn't matter though, as she looked at the pompous cursive that could only belong to one person.

She tucked it into her shirt and finished her work, yet again, in distraction.

* * *

It was the big match day. Harry wouldn't shut the _fuck _up about it. So, to show her annoyance about it, she sat at the Ravenclaw table for breakfast. Everyone was chatting excitedly about it over pancakes and toast. She was alone.

Until Malfoy slid in next to her, as if they had always been casual breakfast-buddies.

He wore his uniform under black robes.

She wanted to know what was under all of it. She'd felt enough of it pressed against her already.

His hand hovered over the peach bowl, testing the flesh with nimble fingers before finding the perfect one. He took a bite and finally looked at her.

"Your cat is somehow even more petulant than yourself."

"I'm confused as to how you even got _near _him, let alone have him allow the attachment of a message."

He shrugged. "I seem to have a way with difficult individuals."

She gaped exaggeratedly, a smile tugging at her lips. "Are you calling me difficult, Malfoy?"

"Will you follow my instructions?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Excuse you?" She scoffed, "_Instructions?_"

He raised the other.

She conceded, looking haughtily up the hall. They'd been making eye contact for far too long. "You'll just have to see, won't you?"

He snickered and took another bite.

"Do you eat anything _other _than peaches?"

"You like their flavour on my tongue, don't you?" He licked his bottom lip.

Hermione caught Ron looking over darkly, already donning his quidditch robes in some asinine bid to intimidate Malfoy.

Looking at how easily Draco draped himself over something so simple as a wooden table, she knew Ron could never do anything to intimidate, well, anyone, really. Especially not Malfoy.

"What if I don't like peaches?" She humoured him, lathering honey on her toast.

He watched the golden syrup. "Well now I understand why your aftertaste is so sweet."

She blushed, before adding that she did, in fact, like peaches. Loved them, actually.

Her eyes flicked back to Gryffindor, where Ron was talking loudly.

A warm hand crept over her knee and she sucked in a breath. Burnt toast. A playful growl murmured, "is Weasley bothering you? I can bother him a whole lot more, if you like."

Him, touching her in public, like _that,_ felt like the ultimate uncouth secret.

She swatted the warmth away, ignoring the tingling running up her thigh, and got up. He looked up at her, worried that he'd overstepped a boundary. She fixed her eyes on his. "Good luck later, Draco. I'll be cheering for Ravenclaw," she smirked down at him before turning away and heading out of the hall.

* * *

She walked over the lush green field, a smile playing on her lips.

Of course, Draco had snatched the snitch right beneath Harry's unsuspecting nose. Quite literally.

He was looking for her, and when found, he grasped her hand amidst the crowd and dragged her behind the, now, Ravenclaw blue fabric draped over the stands.

She was smiling at him, those brown eyes filled with what he could only pin as pride.

He kissed her then, for the second time.

She backed him onto wood with a dull thump, her hands running under the dirt stained jersey.

"I always thought you looked good after quidditch", she murmured, dragging her nails down his scalp. He groaned.

"Always?"

"Of course. Seeing _Malfoy,_ all dishevelled and grass stained; what could be better?"

He chuckled into her mouth, his tongue pressing against hers. "Dirty me up all you want, Granger. You have my permission."

She ghosted her fingers across his hips, dipping them under the band of his pants. His breath caught, and he bit at her bottom lip, eliciting an appreciative moan.

Small fingers ran through soft curls above an increasingly hard cock.

Large palms pressed into her lower back and ran up to her shoulders before taking her face firmly.

She brushed his strained head with her fingertips and was pleased to find it exuding his arousal already.

She removed herself from his grasp, a desperate whimper gracing her ears. His eyes widened as she pressed a slick finger between open lips, cleaning it with her tongue.

"Sweet. Like peaches." She undressed him with her eyes.

"Come back." He pleaded in a growl. Black pupils blew out the grey surrounds and he lifted a hand to her waist, beginning to pull her back into their embrace.

She resisted.

"Nine o'clock, as usual?" She put on her most professional voice, "Don't be late, Malfoy. I'm planning on seeing for myself if that silky blond grows in other places."

Then, much to his dismay, she snuck out the back of the stall and disappeared.


	10. Final Chapter

When they sat down that night, there were only a few books left. They'd managed to fix everything over the months they'd dedicated to the task; it wasn't hard to see they were a great team.

Hermione sat and watched the spine of a particularly snarky edition of _The Monster Book of Monsters _stitch itself while she and Malfoy held it down. It had already bitten him on the arm and got _very_ close to snapping off her little finger. Draco's quick reflexes had thrown it to the ground, and they'd spent another twenty minutes trying to lure it off a tall shelf.

It let out an ungodly shriek as Hermione belted it back up and threw it on top of their final pile. She ran a hand over her sweating forehead and met Draco's eyes with relief.

They were finally done.

She didn't know what to do next.

"We did it. The library is restored." Draco murmured into the darkness, wiping his hands on his trousers and taking a closer look at the bite marks in his arm. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, obviously in pain.

She stepped forward and took it gingerly, seeing deeper lacerations than she first expected.

"Let me heal you," she looked up and studied his face. The warm glow from the lamp emphasised his contours and illuminated his hair golden. He nodded yes, and she pulled out her wand.

He could feel her magic, it was warm and tingling, slightly painful, as his skin mended itself. Definitely not unpleasant. Her magic was like herself, he supposed; it made his heart race. When she was done, she ghosted fingers along his arm, checking for any irregularities.

"Thank you, Hermione." He lifted his hand to her cheek, and she offered a small smile.

They packed their things for the last time, and he watched as she locked the heavy doors. Perhaps it was the end, or maybe it was the beginning. The start of something outside the confines of their library.

It had been easy, locked up in their den of solace.

Now they had to walk away from it. And they did, ambling slower than usual to the entryway of the Ravenclaw commons.

She invited him up to her room. He hesitated. Then followed through the open door. She smelled like autumn. So did her room. The sweetness followed her wherever she went, and he wanted to envelop himself in it.

In her.

"Our rooms are shockingly similar, Draco." She said, showing him a mirror image of his own, but with more personality. His eyes strayed to her window and he walked over to see sweeping views of the grounds.

"Ravenclaw tower has the best view", he started, looking back at her in the middle of the room watching him, "yet you still managed to get a better one than me."

She smiled at his searching gaze and joined to look out over the darkness, seeing the moon reflect off the lake and the plunging green of the forest.

"I suppose so." She lit a few gas lamps around her room, brightening up the space. "I'm going to miss going to the library every night," she admitted, returning to the windowsill and leaning her back against it to look up at him.

He sent her a smirk, as if he knew some secret that she didn't. He leaned forward to whisper into her ear, his cheek brushing stray strands of oaky hair. "I don't think it's the library you'll miss, Hermione."

She breathed cinnamon.

"Perhaps not." She murmured, resting her fingers lightly on his arm. "Perhaps," she breathed in shakily, "it's some_one _rather than some_thing_. Some _place_."

He pressed a chaste kiss behind her ear, and she leant into the warmth of his lips. "Well that's good to hear", he uttered as sure hands slid behind her waist, pulling her closer, "I was rather thinking the same thing myself." Warm breath fanned over her neck and her head whirled. Merlin, he was perfect.

She braced herself on the windowsill, and he pulled back to search her face. "Can I kiss you?" She pleaded, enraptured. Fingers pressed into her spine.

His lips on hers was the only answer she needed, and the heat in her core burned warmer every second their skin was in contact.

The whole evening had been full of sly touches and terribly veiled arousal. The second she saw him walk out of his door at nine that evening, tall and pale and gorgeous, she'd wanted to drag him back through and slam the door shut.

His eyes had this intensity that made her unable to look away, unable to think about anything else other than what she wanted to do to him.

And what she wanted him to do to her.

She began undoing the buttons of his shirt, sliding her fingers over the pressed white cotton. His skin was warm and soft as she pulled the sleaves over his wrists. The shirt fell to the floor in a heap, and she appreciated his slim hips and wide shoulders. Unblemished skin was fractured by scars, but they only made her enjoy the sight of him more. She hummed appreciatively, telling him he was beautiful around feverish lips.

He turned and sat himself on the windowsill, pressing a knee between hers and sliding it up towards her core tantalisingly. His hair was caught around her fingers and he wished he could somehow pull her closer.

She was deliciously soft. He ran a hand over her curves and unzipped her skirt, running it down her thighs with his palms.

Grey cotton. Of course. He moaned into her mouth and traced the hem lightly, snapping the elastic against her skin. She tore her own shirt off in front of hungry eyes.

"Draco," she pulled away and ran her hand over black leather before undoing the gold buckle, "get on the bed."

He gladly obliged, settling himself back onto her cushions and flinging the belt to the side.

Was it hot? Hermione felt hot. Wet kisses peppered down his neck and chest and then his hands were back in her hair. His pants disappeared and she released him from his confines.

The hair there was, in fact, blonde. "You're a tease, you know that?" he growled and pulled her back up, planting between them a searing kiss. It bloomed, and she shimmied out of her underwear, leaving them both stripped bare.

He cupped her breast and his thumb found the peak, teasing it out and melting her into a puddle. It wasn't difficult for him to flip them over, and she let him explore her, kissing and sucking and licking; all the while she writhed under his touch.

"Let me taste you," he looked up at her after having given a pink love bite at her hip. She could hardly find the familiar grey in his blackened eyes.

She struggled to speak at the sight, "please do". His hair was a mess, falling all about his face. It tickled her skin as he descended to her knee, kissing upwards and taking a bite right before where she needed him most. He returned to the other knee, copying his maddening ministrations. She rolled herself against his chest, begging for him. _Please. _

He dipped his back and the shadows danced over his skin.

Two sets of pink lips met, and she groaned into the darkness. They were both so _wet _and _warm. _

His tongue traced along all the right places, flicking against swollen skin as he drank in her noises.

"Draco, I need more," she gasped. He leant over her, whispering a command with a glistening and swollen mouth; "taste yourself."

She did, and it tasted _so much better_ on him than any other time she'd brought her own slick fingers to her lips.

The tip of his cock pressed against her folds, coating itself in her. She pressed against it and he pulled back with a smirk, stroking himself idly at the sight.

"What do you want, Hermione?" He bit his lip as she arched into him. "I need to hear those pretty little lips beg for it."

She hummed into his skin, before meeting his eyes. "I need your cock, Draco, please."

So, he gave the lady what she asked for.

The silence was deafening as he filled her, punctured only by gasps. "Gods, Hermione," he murmured, bracing himself against the wall.

The muscles in his shoulders tensed and she fought her closing eyes. She wouldn't miss this view.

He gave her time to adjust before caressing her insides again as he pulled out. Her desperate whimper was all he needed to know it was okay press back in.

She pulled their chests together, and he welcomed the warmth of her skin on his as he drove tentatively into her. She felt like the warmest, most pillowy silk, and he struggled not to rupture it all by ejaculating. This unbounded beauty, beneath him, around him, with him, would not go away so quickly,

She arched against him, growling into his mouth when he filled her up, pressing against her cervix. Small fingers tightened in his hair, the small amount of pain mixing with pleasure.

_Faster, Draco. _

He was a good listener, and she cried out at the hastened emptying and refilling of her cunt.

Her core was positively _screaming _at her, and she was beginning to replicate it with a string of gasps and moans. When he pulled out completely, she narrowed her eyes at him, but he merely smirked and pulled her on top of him, sinking them together once more.

The new angle paired with his thumb on her clit was too much for her to handle. He ran his nails down her back and she arched.

He choked out a wandless _Muffilato _before she filled the room with loud strings of guttural moans.

Velvet walls pulsated and he pulled her hips over his cock again and again as he fucked her through her orgasm. His orgasm followed, and she groaned with him as he released into her. His throbbing cock sent waves of pleasure through her again, and she watched his face, eyes closed for just a second before boring into hers again.

Lips red, cheeks pink, hair white, eyes grey.

It was a colour palette she never wanted to forget.

* * *

"You know," she said, looking over to see her sheets wrapped around his hips, "I think we missed a golden opportunity."

"What's that?" he propped himself up on his elbow and the fabric shifted.

"We spent months alone in the library. You could've easily bent me over a bookshelf."

He smirked slowly. Calculatedly.

The sound of something flying through the air pierced the silence. Bronze landed in his hand. "You don't think I already thought about that?" He spun it between his fingers. "I copied the key."

He pressed it into her hand and ran a palm down her stomach. "We can go there and live out all your greatest library fantasies, Granger. You naughty little witch."


End file.
